Points of Departure
by itusedtobefun
Summary: (Updated 29/01/14) Chapter 21: This story is about Gail Peck. About Holly too, but mostly Gail. About Gail learning to grow & to like herself better ... if her mother doesn't get in the way. Told from both Gail and Holly's perspectives. A sequel to an earlier story, It Has Been a … Day (but you don't necessarily have to have read it- see Author's note).
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is intended as a stand-alone, multi-chapter story. However, it is, in a sense, a continuation of the world and the characters created in an earlier story, ****_It Has Been a … Day_****, and takes up some time after that one left off. Thus, if you haven't read it, there may possibly be some characters or back story of their relationship missing and you might want to go read it (Spoiler Alert: It's long). That said, I'm pretty sure it's not absolutely necessary.**

**Holly**

There it is. The click of the first lock. Then the second.

Holly looks up from her book, pulls off her glasses and lays them on her bedside stand. She listens to the sound of the doorknob turning, boots being kicked off, keys hitting the bench, and then, finally, the soft footfalls coming toward the bedroom.

And then there she is.

"Hi," Holly says softly, laying the book next to her on the covers.

"Mmmm," Gail moans, shuffling into the room, frowning and falling in a dramatic face plant onto the other side of the bed.

Holly smiles and places a hand over Gail's head, the only part of her she can reach.

"Good day then?"

"Mmmm," Gail whimpers without lifting her head. "They made me run," she mumbles into the covers.

"Who made you run?" Holly asks, smoothing out her ponytail against the covers.

"All of them. All the criminals" Gail moans. "Three times."

She lifts the arm that had been lying prone at her side, holds up three fingers and waves them in Holly's general direction. "Three freaking times I had to chase someone. It's like everyone but me had their Wheaties this morning."

Holly laughs.

Gail moans into the covers again, a long low grumble, before turning her head to the side, muttering, her cheek pressed against the comforter. "Not funny. I'm not built for this, Holly. "

"Poor you," Holly says idly, combing her fingers through her hair and smiling at the way Gail has to play everything for drama, all part of her Gail shtick.

Finally she lifts her head and looks up at Holly, her frown ebbing away.

"Hi," she says suddenly, smiling, her chin resting in her hand.

"Hi." Holly smiles back.

They look at each other for a long moment, mutually, contentedly invested in the tender project of taking in each other all over again, of re-making their little world together.

And when she is done doing that, Gail peels herself off the mattress and crawls slowly over to Holly, leaning in and kissing her softly on the lips, before pulling back.

"How are you?" She asks, her blue eyes narrowed, cat-like, affectionate, at Holly.

"I'm fine." Holly tells her as Gail busies herself sliding fully dressed under the covers next to her and curling against her side. "No running for me," she says, wrapping an arm around Gail's shoulder. "Just a whole lot of desk time. Editing. Boring."

"Yeah, are you done with that stupid paper yet?" Gail asks, picking up Holly's book, reading the cover and tossing it back down again. "I haven't seen you for nearly a week, you know."

"I saw you on Monday, for lunch, remember?"

"Lunch doesn't count," Gail tells her, pouting, drawing her arm across Holly's stomach. "I can't feel you up over lunch"

"So sorry," Holly says, chuckling. "It was quite the tight deadline they threw at me."

"I mean, who needs to read that much about, what was it- drowned people?" Gail shakes her head, yanking at the bottom of Holly's t-shirt. "Drowned shot people?"

"Analysing bullet wounds in mid-term submerged corpses." Holly tells her for what feels like the eighteen thousandth time. "And many, many people want to know about it. Forensic pathologists want to know. Lawyers want to know. The courts want to know. And you police will want us to know next time you drag a body out of the lake, so I wouldn't complain if I were you."

"Okay, okay," Gail tells her, shrugging. "Still, I'm not sure it is worth the neglect."

"Neglect huh?" Holly laughs. "Okay. Well then I think you being on night shift four nights in a row is totally unacceptable." She pokes Gail in the ribs. "And I am unimpressed."

"Hmmph." Is all the response she gets.

Holly smiles, pulling Gail in closer. She's missed her beautiful grouch. It's been too long. They have both been too busy of late, too busy to catch a solid moment together, and it has been no fun at all.

First there was the journal editor all of a sudden putting the accelerator on Holly's research paper, saying they wanted to use it in an earlier issue. This meant a frantic week or two of writing up, editing referencing— all the parts Holly usually likes to take her sweet painstakingly careful time on— and instead had to spend every spare waking hour on it for days to feel like she'd got it right in time. Then there was Gail's spate of night shifts, meaning she started work as Holly was finishing and didn't clock off in the early hours of the morning. None of this has been at all conducive to good old-fashioned quality time, let alone any time at all. And even though she is joking about being unimpressed with Gail herself, Holly's frustration at this situation has been very real.

She slides down the bed and turns to face Gail, curling a hand under her neck. Gail automatically turns too, mirroring Holly, lying on her side. She looks weary. Back-to-back night shifts will do that, Holly supposes.

It's funny, she muses, with all the other things that she thought that could— and the some that did— make things difficult for them so far, Holly had never actually factored in the everyday practicalities of timetabling— that this would come to be the main obstacle to any sort of togetherness. It simply hadn't occurred to her that they are working with two very different lives, lifestyles and jobs in this budding relationship. All the other differences had been so much more obviously portentous of trouble. Who knew that the simple need to find time together would, at least for now, be their biggest issue?

She feels Gail pulls at a strand of her hair, silently demanding Holly's attention come back to her. Obedient, she returns to her.

Gail's eyes gleam quietly in the lamplight as she smiles a small but convincing smile, followed by a whispered, emphatic, "I _missed_ you."

Holly feels that tug inside that she feels whenever Gail says something so candidly affectionate. There is something particularly special when Gail is like this, when she forgets the snark for a moment, the tongue-in-cheek bravado, the pouty whimsy and just speaks her feelings out loud. Holly likes it all, all the Gail crap, but the simplicity of a claim like missing her said with such guileless sincerity, has the ability to make her melt in a delicious but slightly embarrassing way she'd _never _admit to Gail.

"I've missed you, too." Holly tells her, kissing her. She reaches down under the covers and hooks her fingers into one of the belt loops of Gail's jeans, pulling her closer. "Can you stay tonight?"

Gail nods.

"I'm on night shift again tomorrow." She sighs. "Lucky me. Another lawless, drunken Toronto Saturday night." She sighs. "I'm so sick of the late shift."

"Well, like I said, I'm sick of you doing the late shift." Holly says, slipping her hand under the back of Gail's jumper and running her hand across her satiny lower back, enjoying the sensation of her skin under her hands again. "And I will think of you, I promise, as I enjoy the drunken Saturday night."

"What are you doing?" Gail asks, instantly, slightly, interrogative.

"A work party, actually," Holly tells her. "I am sure it will be very well-behaved, though. No police presence required."

Gail pouts. "I wish I could go to a party, instead of being called in to break them up."

"I wish you could come to this party." Holly tells her, running her hand further up her back. "Not as the fun police, of course," she adds. "As yourself."

"Mmm," Gail agrees, breaking into a yawn. It is half-hearted agreement at best. Holly is not surprised. She knows Gail is terrified of meeting her friends. She has already told Holly that she historically doesn't come off well meeting strangers, all because of what she calls her 'stranger danger'. Her awkwardness with people she doesn't know, she claims, can sometimes suddenly spin into a kind of weird hostility. She doesn't mean it. It just kind of happens. Holly had laughed when Gail told her that. She has certainly seen enough of Gail in social action that she believes it might be true. She also likes the fact that Gail cares enough about it that she feels a need to forewarn Holly.

Gail nudges her head under Holly's chin and kisses her neck before leaning back and frowning. "I'm hungry," she says, like it has just occurred to her.

"Of course you are," Holly smiles. Gail is always hungry. "Did you have dinner?"

Gail shakes her head, kissing Holly's neck again. "I should have got something on the way, but I just wanted to hurry and get here while you were still awake."

"Aw," Holly mutters, kissing her. "I'm glad. But do you want to call for take out? Or I can make you something?"

"Neh," Gail shakes her head, sliding in closer to Holly, and slipping a hand into the waistband of her leggings. "I'll make some toast or something later. I just want to feel you up a bit first. You know, make up for Monday."

Holly laughs, pulling at Gail's jumper— her vote for its removal. "You go right ahead."

* * *

**Holly**

"Well hello there."

Holly looks up from her coffee and from Thao's epically tragic tale of a visit to the in-laws with a sick child to find the smiling face of Oliver Shaw in full uniform, standing at their table, grinning down at them.

"Hi there." she smiles at him, surprised but pleased to see him here in the café under the lab, where they are snatching a sneaky late afternoon coffee. She likes this man a lot already, based on a few recent, brief work encounters. She couldn't help but instantly like the sweet, almost canine nature of his obviously protective and unconditional affection for those around him.

"What are you doing in this part of the world?" she asks, then remembers introductions. "Thao, this is Officer Shaw…"

"Oliver," he interrupts.

"Oliver." Holly repeats, "This is Thao."

"Pleased to meet you," he tells Thao, who smiles her response.

He turns back to Holly and to her question. "Ah, we were just taking something to the lab. Then I needed a caffeinated beverage and remembered Miss Cranky Pants over there owes me a coffee. So I made her come to the nice place for the good lattes." He waves his hand in the direction of the counter. There, across the room with her back to them at the counter is Gail, paying for two take out coffees, her blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Holly feels that slight charge—that most moderate of turbulence she always seems to feel when she unexpectedly sees Gail.

"That woman will never, ever, remember that you shouldn't bet against me when it comes to politics, hockey or when teenage boys are lying." Oliver says, shaking his head.

"And thus, she owes you coffee?" Thao asks, smiling up at him.

"Exactly." Oliver tells her with gusto.

Holly smiles. She's going to guess Gail lost a bet on the third topic. She can't imagine Gail talking either politics or hockey, let alone laying bets.

He turns back to Holly. "So, how are those bodies treating you? Behaving? Not giving you any gyp?"

"No," Holly laughs, sipping her coffee. "Not lately, anyway."

"You know, Holly, that's why I like the sound of your job. They don't answer back. See, I'm a family man," he says, turning to Thao, bringing her into his expansive stage. "I've already got teenage kids. They backtalk all the time. Won't let me, their father, be the superior mind among them. Teenagers know everything. Did you know that?" he asks them.

Thao shakes her head, smiling. "Mine is barely old enough to speak yet."

"Ah, see, now enjoy that." Oliver says, pointing at her. "It gets ugly as soon as you give them words. So, I've got the kids, then I've got criminals, who …"

Holly tries to focus in on this strangely entertaining spiel but the sight of Gail, now finished buying the coffees and scanning the room distracts her. Holly watches her blue eyes roaming until they locate Oliver. Sighted, she heads in their direction without noticing who it is he is talking to. In fact, she doesn't spot Holly until she is close and Holly can see that when she does, her eyes widen ever so slightly. She also sees Gail bites her bottom lip as she negotiates the crowded café with two full cups, trying to cover a small smile that escapes anyway. Holly involuntarily mirrors the smile; enjoying witnessing Gail's pleased reaction to her sudden, probably surprising, presence. She's so skittish, you never know how she'll react to anything she is not prepared for.

Gail finally makes it to them, coming to a halt next to Oliver and nudging him with her wrist, a prompt to take the coffee from her.

"Ah, see, and then I've got this one and her pals backtalking all over the shop," Oliver takes his coffee from Gail with one hand. He places the other around the back of her neck and shakes her gently, fatherly. Gail looks about as comfortable as Holly would expect her to in a moment likes this. Not at all.

"Yep, this one's a real smart ass." Oliver continues. "Might as well have another teenage daughter for all the respect I get."

"Okay _Dad._" Gail shoots back, at her belligerent teenage best. "At least that's the calibre of the jokes," she tells them. She looks over at Holly, but doesn't move. "Hey," she smiles.

"Hi," Holly returns, as cautiously casual as she can be. It is in this moment that she is grateful that Gail's uniform saves them from any awkward decisions about PDAs. "Gail, this is my friend Thao, Thao, this is Gail."

"Hi," Thao says, looking up from her phone and raising a hand in a kind of friendly half-wave. Gail offers a quick smile, and then looks straight back down at the lid of her coffee, picking at the plastic lid.

Holly sees Thao eyeing Gail curiously, subtly trying to get a good look at this woman she has heard so much about while showing Oliver something on her phone. A picture of her kid, Holly guesses, but she has clearly missed this part of the conversation due to the minor distraction that is Gail's presence.

"Very cute. Get that child an agent. So, did she tell you?" Oliver asks, handing Thao back her phone and turning back to Holly, disturbing her covert observation of Gail dealing with this potentially social awkward— for Gail— meeting.

"Tell me what?" Holly asks him, looking from him to Gail. Gail's frown tells Holly that she doesn't know what he is talking about either.

"That myself and Officer Peck here are soon to be awarded, along with Toronto's finest officers, an award for bravery in emergency response." He puffs his chest out a little as he makes the announcement. It appears eighty percent mocking, but maybe, just maybe, twenty percent genuine to Holly.

"Wow?" she says, looking over at Gail. It's the first she's heard of it.

"Yeah, you, me and like, one hundred and fifty other of Toronto's finest officers." Gail scoffs, sipping her coffee and frowning. "It's this annual thing. They give out a heap of awards every year. No big deal."

"What did you get it for?" Thao asks, looking back and forth between Gail and Oliver. Holly can tell Thao is completely entertained by their banter, their indulgent enjoyment in playing out their odd couple alliance for comedy. And rightfully so. From the few moments Holly has witnessed lately, the Gail and Oliver Show can be a beautiful, if dizzyingly whacky, thing.

"As first responders to the scene, we very bravely rescued a mother and child from the lake a few months back," Oliver announces, putting his coffee down on their table and stirring in sugar.

"We?" Gail turns to him, throwing him her best Gail shade. "Uh, only one of us came out of that rescue with their uniform wet. And it was definitely not you."

"Well, I couldn't risk getting my hair wet," Oliver shoots back, lifting his arm and primping at his thinning pate. "Besides, who actually hauled them out? Who, might I ask, administered the first aid?"

"Yeah, yeah" Gail tells him, sipping her coffee. "While I tried not to be dragged to a watery grave by the weight of my uniform."

"Anyway," Oliver says, ignoring Gail, "We are to be honoured— among many others it now seems— because we are fabulous."

"True," Gail shrugs, screwing up her face and nodding in agreement.

"And now we must take these talents back to the mean streets of Toronto, ladies."

"Bye. Lovely to see you, Oliver." Holly says, meaning it.

"Nice to meet you," adds Thao, smiling and leaning forward in her chair.

"Likewise." Oliver says, ever affable.

He turns to Gail. "Shall we make a move, my dear? Still a few hours left of Daddy/Daughter shift to enjoy."

Gail doesn't answer. She just throws him side eye and delivers a gritted-teeth smile. Oliver, unruffled, just smiles right back, inured to her lack of charms. She then turns and flashes Holly and Thao a brief weary smile before turning to follow him out of the restaurant. Holly tracks them with her eyes as they make their way to the door.

When she turns back to Thao is smiling at her.

"Sooo, that is Gail," she says slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear and reaching for her purse.

"Yes, that is Gail." Holly agrees, feeling suddenly shy. Thao was the first and is still one of the very few people Holly has talked about Gail with. And Thao first heard about her existence during a particularly rough point in their getting together, a time when Gail was being, well, slightly crazy. Now that they have actually met, she hopes knowing this hasn't coloured Thao's opinion of her.

"She's certainly feisty." Thao says, throwing a note on top of the bill and pushing her chair back. "And funny."

"Ha," Holly laughs, getting up and pulling on her coat. "That was nothing."

"Imagine being arrested by those two?" Thao ponders, shaking her head as they get up to head back to the lab. "I feel like it'd be positively slapstick."

Nope, Holly cannot imagine it.

**To be continued. Your reviews are always appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2:Gail and Holly

**Authors note: The final part of this chapter comes from an older story posted here, called One of the Good Ones. It was always intended to be part of the larger story. But if it sound familiar, that's why!**

* * *

**Gail**

The thing is, as she tells Steve over dinner, is that Gail doesn't get it.

If she looks back on all the things she has had to do in her short policing career, getting that kid and his mom out of the lake called on less bravery, less psychological and physical resource, less swallowing back of bitter fear, than Gail has had to use in so many other situations in recent memory.

There seems to her to be so many more courage-demanding situations where she has been called upon to perform acts in the line of duty, acts that she thinks are much more medal-worthy if her own bravery is the selection criteria. Like pretending to be a high-class hooker and get in a car to go God-knows-where with a man suspected of making girls disappear. Like surviving a kidnapping. Like deliberately walking into what may or may not be a gun-toting ambush with only Ollie for company. Those things have called on more of Gail's courage resources than pulling two freezing, terrified people from the cold water of the lake one early autumn evening.

This rescue was just an automatic response to the call of what she had been trained to do as a first-responder back at the Academy. So later, when they were notified about the award, a slightly embarrassing announcement in parade in front of everyone, it had taken Gail a moment to recognise the occasion they were talking about, such has been the last year.

And it wouldn't have been so difficult, either, except for the panicked mother. They had been on patrol in the early evening, months ago. It was the beginning of autumn, one of those days where the sun can still muster enough strength to keep the air warm, but then, when it drops, the chill sets in immediately and you can smell the certainty of winter on its way, creeping in under cover of the darkness.

It was right at the end of their shift, and they were about to drive back to the station when they got the call that a kid had fallen into the lake somewhere near them. They'd had to park the car and run the last part of the way, around an old building to the waterfront. It wasn't until they got there that they found that the mother had, completely terrified, made the call and then jumped straight in after her kid. By the time they got there they were drifting together in a clutch of freezing bodies, the mother barely keeping them afloat.

They weren't that far from the edge, so she looked for a flotation device, the kind that are scattered along these heavily populated areas of lake shore. No dice. Oliver tried to call out to the woman, but she didn't answer. She just kept screaming for them, clearly panicked.

Gail automatic assessed the scene, just like they'd been taught in first response training. She ran over the mental checklist of immediate dangers. She knew how cold the water would be at this time of year, which is always a worry. But the biggest worry was the kid. He looked young, about eight, and the mother was barely keeping the two of them above water, her panic clearly spending what energy she still possessed.

So Gail had dumped her belt, her jackets and her boots, cursed silently and lowered herself into the water, kicking off the retaining wall and swimming over to them. When she got to them, the woman thrust the child at her,

"Take him," she had screamed.

Gail slipped an arm around the boy, extricating him carefully, absorbing his weight along with the increasing heaviness of her uniform as it took on the full burden of the icy water. The moment she took the boy, the mother slipped under the water, and Gail had to grab quickly at her arm, kicking hard to keep them all afloat. She pulled hard, trying to maintain a grip on the boy. The mother came to the surface, gasping.

"Just take him, " the mother screamed again, hysterical, pushing away at Gail's hand.

Although she needed help, Gail knew immediately there was nothing she could do with this woman until she got this kid to safety.

"Just stay above the water," she gasped at the mother, as calm but as she could, starting to feel exhausted already. "Stay calm and use your arms and your legs to keep you afloat."

She kicked away with the boy clinging to her, a freezing limpet attached to her neck. It was not the way they were taught to tow someone out of the water, but Gail did not have time to do anything but get him to the ladder as fast as she could in an awkward one-armed sidestroke and convince him, terrified and pale to reach up for Oliver's hand and strike back out to the mother.

Seeing her child on the shore, the mother calmed enough for Gail to tell her what to do, and for her to be able to hook her arms under the mother's and slowly bring her back to the ladder where some newly arrived police from 27 pulled her, already shivering madly, from the freezing water.

"You know, the biggest risk I took was getting some disease from that skanky water," Gail tells Steve, frowning and scooping up a forkful of pasta.

"Yeah, well, it's not about it being the bravest thing you ever did." Steve tells her, slurping up a mouthful of spaghetti. "These things are just PR. It's about the fact it was a mother and child. That," he points his fork at her as he chews, "Is one good little media grab." He sits back in his chair, hands on his stomach. "I mean, think about it, you give a crackhead CPR and everyone's like, 'whatever, that's your job'. But if you do the same to a little old lady on the street, next thing you know you're practically sainted. I mean that old biddy could have the bodies of three ex-husbands crammed in her closet, for all we know."

"Wow." Gail tells him, stopping with the fork halfway to her mouth, staring at him. "Is it possible that you are, in fact, more cynical than me?" she shoots at him, half because she is really starting to wonder who really is the greatest pessimist out of the two of them, but partly because she does actually feel a teensy bit deflated by his comment. Sure, it wasn't the scariest thing that has ever happened to her, but she still kind of secretly likes the fact that she is getting an award.

"No, I was just raised by our mother."

"Mmm, true." Gail concedes.

"I guess it turned out to be pretty lucky Dad was always making us do those swims at the lake." Steve says, leaning back over his plate.

"Oh God. Yes." Gail nods, picking up her beer. "Just don't tell him that."

It was a ritual as familiar as breathing. Every summer, when they went up to the cottage for holidays, their father would make them swim. Every damn morning he'd take them down to the lake and make them swim out to the old barge and back again. It wasn't too far, but far enough for them to hate it. But no matter how much they complained, they had to do it.

"It's just so I know I can leave you kids here and you won't drown while your mother and I aren't around," he'd tell them, dry on the shore in his favourite old hunting jacket.

And no matter how much, or how vociferously they protested that no other kids around had to do that, despite the fact that that their mothers also spent most of their days drinking white wine and gossiping under the trees ignoring them, or that their fathers also went fishing at the North end, leaving the gang of kids largely to their own devices by the lake, it didn't matter. It was only Gail and her brother who had to prove their ability to be left alone near a body of water they'd grown up near.

"Yes, well, their parents don't see the kinds of things I see every day. My kids will be able to handle themselves if anything goes wrong," he would tell them in the no-arguments tone he liked to use every now and then when he was getting them to do things 'for their own good'.

This was his stock standard response to a lot of things. He never elaborated on what those 'things' he saw were, instead clearly preferring to let the sense of foreboding derive from the vagueness of allusion.

And so, when Gail realised that those two needed to get out of the water and fast, she hadn't given it a second thought, she'd just jumped in, trusting her ability to get them out of there. And, later, when she was back at 15, warming up in a hot shower, she thought of her father and his morning military swimming drills and smiled to herself. _He's going to love this_, she thought, if she ever told him.

"So, when are the awards?" Steve asks, pushing away his bowl and leaning back in his chair.

"Couple of weeks." Gail can't remember the exact date. "Not sure."

"Well, let me know so I can make it."

"What?" Gail frowns. It hadn't occurred to her Steve would want to come. "You're not coming, are you?"

"Of course I'm coming," Steve grins. "Free booze? And Traci's going."

"Ah, that explains it." Gail tells him. "I knew it couldn't have been about me."

* * *

**Gail**

"Question. Is it inappropriate to ask someone why their fake tan line stops halfway up their neck?"

"That depends. Are they a friend?"

"No."

"Then yes."

What if they _are_ a friend?"

"Still probably yes, if it's you asking."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gail pouts, dropping onto the sofa and adjusting the phone against her ear.

"Well, babe, I have come to discover that you are not exactly the master of tact."

"Hmm," is all Gail says, distracted by Holly's use of babe. She's not sure when she started calling her that, but she kind of likes it. It's casually possessive, but not saccharine. The perfect endearment.

"So, going to tell me what this is about?"

"No," Gail tells her, inspecting a small burn on her hand. Stupid coffee machine.

"Okay then. I probably don't want to know. So, how was your brother last night?"

"Fine," Gail tells her, kicking her legs over the back of the sofa and lying back against the cushions. "Do you know what the first thing he said to me when I got there was?"

"What?"

"Where's Holly?" Gail sighs. "Not hello, not how are you, but where's Holly?"

She hears Holly chuckle

"I think he likes you more than he likes me," Gail tells her.

"I doubt it." Holly tells her. "Besides, don't worry, I like your brother a lot, he's lovely, but I'm pretty sure I still like you better."

"Yeah, well, like that's any kind of competition." Gail scoffs, watching Chris move back and forth in the kitchen like he might be about to start cooking something. She hopes whatever it is, she can be in on it—the eating of it, that is. Gail has worked tirelessly to create and nurture a universe where everyone believes it is a better world if she doesn't cook.

She hears a clatter at Holly's end, the sound of metal hitting metal.

"What are you doing?" Gail asks, suspicious. "You're not, like, cutting up body parts or something, are you?"

"No," Holly responds, all innocence, "Just, you know, sorting some … stuff."

Gail grimaces and decided not to pursue that line of questioning any further. It's best not to know what Holly does with her workdays, she's learned.

"So, how was your party the other night?"

"Yeah, it was actually really fun. It was the good people."

"So, no toxicology folk then." Gail says, sniffing the air. Chris is definitely cooking something. Sausages, she guesses from the meaty, salty smell. She sighs. Does he know how to cook anything else?

"Hah, you remembered."

"Of course I remembered." Gail frowns. Sometimes she thinks that Holly thinks she doesn't listen to anything she says, just because she can't remember what her stupid research paper is about. But who can remember all that lingo without a degree? Gail does not do science.

"Tox are the weird ones and ballistics are the best drinkers, right?"

"Right." Holly sounds impressed.

"Anyway," Gail says, swallowing, deciding to get to the point of this phone call. "You know that award thing, the one Ollie was talking about?"

"Yep," Holly replies. "I'm still waiting to hear that story of brave Gail, by the way."

"Did you— and you don't have to," Gail adds quickly, before Holly can say anything. "… want to come? I mean, it'll be dull, but there's a reception and you know free drinks and stuff after and then some of us might go out. I don't know," Gail shrugs, staring at the ceiling. "If you want to."

"I do."

"Really? It'll be boring." Gail warns her again, suddenly wondering if it's a dumb idea for Holly to come.

"I'm coming." Holly's voice is firm.

"Okay then," She bites her lip, suppressing her smile even though no one is looking at her. "I have to go and make sure Chris eats his vegetables. Ill talk to you tomorrow."

She hangs up the phone, smiles, drags herself from the sofa, and goes in search of dinner.

* * *

**Gail**

Gail has a hangover.

But it's one of the good ones. Really, it is.

This tepid little number is not too much more than a slight drumming in the head and a drag around the eyelids- a pesky but handy reminder that she had a seriously good time last night.

Luckily, she was tempted away from the impromptu party before the drinking got too serious. The secret to a long life- and not being too hungover -she is finally learning, is knowing when it is time to go.

She yawns widely, folding her arms over herself and leaning against the back of the stool, luxuriating in the fact she is in absolutely no hurry at all. She stretches her pale bare legs out to rest along the seat of the stool next to her and smiles.

Nope, this hangover is not too bad at all. It is one of those languid, sleepy aftermaths, the kind you can even learn to enjoy on the right type of day- as long as you treat it as a mere, mild side effect to a night well spent.

And today is just the right kind of day.

Maybe if she had to go to work today she wouldn't feel as good about the low notes of the headache skulking at her temples. But Gail doesn't have to go to work. Not today. Spread, languorous, before her is the delicious promise of a whole, precious, beautiful day off. Yep, stretched all the way to the horizon that is her early shift on Sunday morning is a Saturday away from 15, unsullied by the chasing of brainless criminals through frosty streets, by rescuing idiots who are still driving like it's summer out of wreckage on the snowy highway, or, the worst of them all, enduring a full day of desk duty.

Nope. Gail doesn't have to do any of that today. Nope, this day is all hers and she loves it. In fact, she'd write this day a Valentines Day card if it were February.

And maybe, just maybe, if she hadn't had such a good time last night the low rumble in her stomach that is treading the thin line between hunger and nausea would be more unpleasant. If it had been provoked by another prosaic night of drinking at the Penny instead of from the spontaneous after-work party at their house, she'd probably feel worse. If her memories of last night weren't a blisteringly sultry montage of jump shots from tequila to dancing to a quick escape when things threatened to get truly messy to a whole lot of mildly drunken but seriously fun, seriously hot sex, then yes, maybe Gail would mind this hangover more.

But instead she is really kind of enjoying it. In fact, once the Tylenol kicks in and she has a coffee in her hand, and she can really get down to the business of enjoying this Saturday off, Gail is pretty sure she will be winning this hangover.

And the gravy? Holly is making coffee.

Gail turns to watch Holly lean over her new espresso machine and smiles the smile of the indulged.

Gail would never tell her, but she still relishes the times when she finds an undisturbed moment just to sit back and watch Holly in action -when Holly doesn't know she is being watched, that is. Aside from the fact that she just likes looking at her, Gail find something calming in the precision and purpose that is Holly's every move. Holly has this even-keeled and optimistic-without-being-irritating energy about everything she does, and Gail finds it strangely pacifying.

It wasn't until she met Holly that Gail realised how sedentary she can be in her own downtime. Given the chance, Holly plays sport, reads books and even writes research papers in her free time. Gail could easily spend the same amount of time just kicking back and dreaming into the empty space above the couch by the window in her apartment. Maybe it is a response to the exertions demanded by her job, but Gail relishes stillness- and silence- when she can get it.

But not Holly. Holly is not so energetic that she is fidgety or noisy or any of those things. In fact, she's probably more relaxed than Gail has ever managed to be in her life. But she still has this spirited energy about her, an energy that says how much she likes to be in the moment, fully present at all times. Gail is pretty sure it comes from the fact that, unlike Gail, Holly is completely confident of her place in the world. And it is this particular brand of moxie that Gail finds herself so intrigued and soothed by.

And it is because of this confidence and purpose in Holly that Gail takes a particular, artful pleasure in working out just how to stop her in her tracks. In fact, the power she is starting to feel in educating herself in how this woman operates is becoming incredibly exhilarating.

At first Gail had been happy to take a back seat at first, to take her time to learn the lay of the land- so to speak. Last night had been different though. The courage that is tequila mixed with the promise of no alarm clock and some serious lust generated during those hours on the dance floor had done their work and Gail found herself feeling reckless and brave and more wilfully seductive than she had felt in a long time -probably not since those early, heady, pre-kidnap days with Nick. That was when she had last felt confident in her ability to be alluring. But last night she had felt hot and she had felt cocky -just like the Gail of old- and she had run with it, starting something in the taxi that hadn't finished until the early, grey-lit hours of dawn this morning.

And Holly did not seem to mind at all.

Yep, Gail thought, wriggling her toes on the stool and watching Holly finally figure out how to work the coffee machine, last night had been fun.

But it isn't just about seduction. What really makes Gail delight is learning the other little unique details about what makes Holly tick as a person. Gail hadn't realised until now that she has always been attracted to men with simple tastes, with uncomplicated emotional needs. It never took long to learn how to push their buttons, or to figure out what drove them. Or maybe it is just men in general, Gail thinks, shrugging. She has no idea. All she knows is she has never, ever, needed much subtlety –or to look so closely before. It has always been Gail they have had to figure out, not the other way around.

But there is something about this beautiful, complex woman that Gail finds herself fixed on wanting to educate herself in every tick and trait she can unearth in Holly, to know every single way to unlock her, both mentally and physically.

Already Gail has picked up enough to know she wants to know even more. She has learned that Holly likes handholding, and that she unembarrassedly enjoys giving flowers. She has learned that she doesn't really like to be cooked for (probably lucky), that she approaches most problems with an impressive mix of logic and wisdom and that she hates to miss the news or not to know the answer to a question. She even knows that when Holly is tired she rubs the space between her eyebrows and that when she is really exhausted she talks quietly in her sleep.

But there are other things that Gail likes knowing best: the intimate little things that only she has the right to know about this woman just now. Gail likes knowing that a lip or even a thumb brushed against the base of Holly's neck when she is getting sleepy will make her smile lazily and shut her eyes.

And Gail loves knowing that if she were to sidle up to Holly right now- if she was to place her hands on the back of her t-shirt and press her fingers along that stretch where her back turns the corner into her side and run them slowly downward along her ribs to her hips, that Holly will stop in her tracks, no matter what she is doing and lean back into her, purring.

Gail loves knowing that.

There is a hiss and a beep and finally Holly turns, triumphant, from the machine, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She notices Gail staring at her. An eyebrow shoots upwards.

"What? You look shifty."

"Nothing." Gail sings, biting her bottom lip and smiling, playing virtuous.

Holly comes over and places the coffee cup in Gail's hands, smiling.

"Does anyone, ever, buy your innocent face?"

"Maybe," Gail shrugs, putting the cup on the bench and grabbing onto the bottom of Holly's t-shirt. "Now," she whispers, "turn around."

**To be continued. Your reviews are always appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3: Gail and Holly

**Gail **

"Give me fifty dollars."

"Um, no." He doesn't even look up from him computer.

"Uh, _yes,_" she tells him, folding her arms and leaning on the desk next to him, right in his face where he can't ignore her.

"Why, darling sister, would I give you fifty dollars, especially when I paid for dinner the other night?" He leans back in his chair, smiling at her.

"You paid for dinner because it was your turn to pay for dinner." Gail tells him, giving him a small shove to the shoulder with her hand, just to remind him who is boss. "And if you want your name on your aunt's stupid birthday present, you'll give me the fifty you owe me for your share."

Steve sighs loudly and reaches into his pocket.

"Naw, listening you two makes me wish I had siblings." Traci tosses a file onto Steve's desk. "So much love I am missing out on."

"Yep, that's right, so much love," Steve replies, dry, slapping some notes in Gail's hand.

She just smiles at him and pockets the money without a word.

"Looks like Peck junior won that round." Traci teases, folding her arms over her chest.

"No she didn't." Steve shakes his head at Traci.

"Uh, yeah I did," Gail retorts, pulling the money back out and waving it at him, turning to make her exit

"Hang on a sec," Steve calls. He then turns to Traci, "Watch this."

Gail looks at him, eyes narrowed. She knows when he brother has something on her, something that is going to monumentally piss her off. He gets all show-offy and gleeful, the prat.

"Guess who is handing out the awards at the police do?" He asks, sitting back against his chair again, swinging it from side to side.

"Who?" Gail asks slowly, pretty sure she already knows the answer.

Crap, _crap_, she thinks.

"Mom."

"No," Gail says, shaking her head, even though she already knows in the pit of her stomach, the roiling pit of her stomach, that he is one hundred percent telling the truth.

"Oh, but yes," Steve counters, grinning, clearly relishing every single bit of pain Gail is feeling.

"Why?" Gail moans, tipping her head back.

"Uh, I know this one," Traci pipes up, clearly enjoying this very much- too much, Gail thinks. "Because she is none other than Superintendant Elaine Peck!"

Gail gives her the blackest look she can muster. But, as ever, it washes over Traci like it's nothing. In fact, she just smiles right back at Gail, impervious. She and Steve deserve each other, Gail thinks. At least they are probably dishing each other this same special kind of hell. It's probably foreplay for them. They deserve each other.

"That's right, Trace, that's absolutely right," says Steve, turning to Traci and then back to Gail, smiling sardonically. "And you know what that means, don't you?"

"What does it mean, Steve?" Traci asks gaily, playing along.

"Oh, you know, photo ops, press, lots of attention for the prodigal daughter. All that stuff you love."

"Ooh, maybe a speech?" Traci adds, her eyes lighting up. She's clearly remembering the last time Gail was supposed to give a speech, and she's loving it. "You have to turn up to this one, you know, Gail? Right?"

"I hate you both so much right now," Gail tells them, looking back and forth between them before narrowing in on Steve. "How did you find this out?"

"Uh, Mom told me." He flicks open a file. "Maybe if you answered her calls once in a while."

"Oh, don't you dare…" Gail shakes her head at him, not quite believing that this particular heckle is coming out of Steve—the master at avoiding family duty's— mouth.

"Hey, that's what she said," he protests, holding up his hands. "Don't shoot the paraphraser."

"Fabulous." Gail shakes her head. "No, really. Thanks for that news Steve. Much appreciated."

"Forewarned is forearmed," He tells her, grinning.

"Yeah, right." She turns on her heel and leaves them to their smug, mutual self-satisfaction

"See?" she hears him tell Traci, as she beats a retreat out of his office. "Knockout to Peck the Elder."

"And don't forget to call Mom!" she hears him call down the hall.

* * *

**Gail**

Gail brings it up on a quick lunchtime visit to the lab.

It's not much of a lunch, though. Gail's ham roll is stale and Holly has to keep working some tests while she eats in order to be ready for post-lunch meeting. Gail sits on the edge of her desk, chewing slowly, watching Holly's hands dash out a series of incomprehensible figures across the paper.

"You know, my mom is going to be there, at the service awards thing." She says through a mouthful of roll. "She's giving out the commendations."

"Oh, and are we happy about that? Holly asks, distracted.

"What do you think?" Gail snaps, kicking the side of Holly's chair.

Holly lifts up her head, gives her a look and returns to her work. "Not happy then, I guess." She glances briefly back up at Gail and smiles.

"Well," Gail picks a piece of brown lettuce out of her roll and frowns. "She still doesn't know about us."

"Yeah, I figured I'd have heard if that had happened," Holly jokes. Then, suddenly her hand stops moving across the page. "Oh, I get it, she says, looking back up at Gail, nodding slowly. "And you invited me to come."

Gail registers the tiny traces of hurt on her face straight away.

Gail puts her roll down, but doesn't say anything. Now she has started this conversation, she doesn't really know how to go on with it.

Holly does. She puts her pen down and folds her arms over her chest. "And now you don't want me to come."

"I didn't say that." Gail tells her, biting her lip. " But I'm just saying it might be kind of awkward."

"Why?" Holly shakes her head, frowning. "Your mother doesn't even know me. How can it be awkward? I'll just be one of your friends, watching you win an award. I don't even have to meet her. _I'm_ in no rush."

Gail shrugs. She does not like her chances of it being that easy.

Holly frowns at her.

"Look, it's going to be up to you if it whether it is awkward." She says quietly, leaning back over her work. "Anyway, Gail. I have to finish this. If you don't want me to go, just tell me. I won't come."

"I didn't say that," Gail says quietly, picking up her roll and tossing in the trash. She pushes herself off the desk and turns for the door. "I have to get to work. I'll see you later."

"Gail…" she hears Holly's voice behind her, but she doesn't stop. She strides down the hallway, back to the entrance, her lips pressed together, confused. She doesn't even know what she wanted out of that conversation, but it wasn't for Holly to be angry. She certainly hadn't meant to tell Holly not to come. Or had she?

Before she even gets to her car, she feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. She slips it out and looks at it. Sure enough, it's Holly. She hesitates for a moment and then answers it.

"I'm sorry." Holly tells her, without saying hello. "I'm trying to be patient. I get that this thing, whatever it is, with your mother is not easy and I was right in the middle of something."

"I shouldn't have brought it up now," Gail offers, but Holly ignores her.

"And I am trying not to take it personally, but, you know …?"

"I know. Holly," Gail sighs. "I wasn't telling you not to come, I was just, I don't know, trying to tell you what was happening, and give you an out. To maybe give me an out, I don't know."

"Well, we have a choice here, Gail. Do you, Gail, want me to come to this thing?"

"Yes." And it's the truth.

"Then I'll come."

"Good."

"Besides, it gives me a chance to do some covert observation before I actually have to meet these parents of yours."

"True." Gail smiles.

"Am I seeing you tomorrow night, still?"

That's right, Gail remembers. Holly is taking her on a date, something they have never really done. Well, not since they went on dates and neither of them really realised they were on a date.

"I hope so." She leans against the wall, sheltering from the falling snow. "I .. I'm glad you called," she says quietly.

"Well, I have learned the hard way before not to let you stew. It's the quickest way to unleash a Gail can o' crazy."

"Yeah," Gail agrees. She can't really argue with that, not with Holly, anyway.

"See you soon?"

"Yeah, bye." She hangs up and walks slowly toward the parking lot, her hands jammed in her pockets.

She stops just before she gets to her car and checks her watch. She has fourteen minutes to make it to station to prepare for afternoon parade_. Stuff it_. She turns on her heel before she can change her mind, marches through the automatic doors and back down the hall to Holly's office. She is still there, standing at her desk, sorting a pile of papers, her bag on her shoulder, ready to go to her meeting. She looks up as Gail strides into the room. She goes to open her mouth to say something, but Gail doesn't let her, pulling her forward by the handle of her bag for the best movie kiss she can muster.

She pulls back, breathless and says,

"I just wanted …"

"To give me a grand gesture to show me just how awesome you think I am?" Holly interrupts, smiling at her and kissing her again, "Well, impressive job."

Gail grins, draping her arms around Holly's neck

"Please come to this stupid awards thing," she whispers. "I want you to see me get this stupid award even if it is from my stupid mother. You are the only person I actually care about being there."

Holly sighs and shakes her head.

"Gail, I already told you I'm coming." She smiles. "But thanks for asking again."

Gail doesn't answer. She just lays another kiss on her and heads for the door.

* * *

**Holly**

"So, what are your parents like?" Gail asks her as they walk back to the car. "You don't really talk about them much."

They have been to dinner and a movie. It might be the most normal thing Gail has done in a long time, she had told Holly as they entered the cinema, making her laugh.

"Don't I?" Holly hadn't realised she doesn't talk about them. She digs in her jacket pockets for the car keys. "Well, they're lovely, pretty normal people, I guess. I don't now why I don't talk about them."

"So tell me," Gail asks, climbing into the car.

"Um, I don't know, what do you want to know?" Holly shrugs, putting the key into the ignition and starting the car. "Dad does maths for a living, Mom teaches it at a high school. They live in Montreal now. They moved when Dad got asked to take part in some weird, fringe math theory project at a university there."

"Maths can have a fringe?" Gail sounds dubious. "Makes it sound like a bunch of punks sitting round doing algebra."

"I know, right?" Holly agrees, reversing out of the parking space. "Believe me, my Dad is no punk. He's more, your tweed and builder's tea type. I don't really understand the project, and I'm pretty good at math— how could I not be with those two?"

"And your mom?"

"Like I said, she teaches at a high school. And she's also really into pottery. She made every single plate and cup in my kitchen, practically. Last year I actually had to tell her to stop sending stuff to me or to sell it on Ebay or something. At one point I had _twenty-five bowls_. I can't even fit twenty-five people in my apartment," she laughs.

"You could have six people, and four courses. And one for salad." Gail tells her. "And that is about as far as I got with math."

Holly chuckles, braking gently as a car pulls out a little too close in front of her.

"Were they strict?"

"Uh, no, not really." Holly says, trying to think if she can ever remember if they ever laid down many laws. "I don't think they had to be. I was pretty well-behaved."

"Of course you were," Gail turns and smiles at her, her cute cat-got-the-cream smile she gets when she's got something on you.

"Oh hush," Holly grins, turning out of the parking lot. "Oh, and Dad collects hats. Old man hats and insists on wearing them out, which Mom hates and is probably the reason they hardly ever go out."

"Ha," Gail laughs, "If my Dad tried something like that, Mom would be on him in minutes. In fact, I'm pretty sure she picks out all his clothes."

Settling into the Saturday night traffic, Holly leans back against her seat, and reaches out, resting her free hand on Gail's leg. Gail automatically covers it with her own hand, rubbing a thumb gently over Holly's.

She's quiet for a minute, staring out the windscreen at the frozen windy city outside.

Then she asks, "Do they … have you told them about me?"

"Kind of. Dad knows I've started seeing someone." Holly replies. "Mum doesn't— unless he told her."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't ask. Dad always asks." Holly shrugs. "I think she just thinks it's none of her business. She's more likely just to wait until I tell her something. But you know, I've never really been sure if she'd be any more likely to ask if I were straight. She's kind of reserved. She's lovely, I love her, but she's just a bit more closed than Dad, or me."

"But your Dad is totally cool?"

"Yeah, nothing fazes Dad. But nothing fazes him because normal stuff is just stuff to him." Holly tells her, wondering if she is making sense. "It's like he couldn't even be bothered being narrow-minded about anything because he has his mind on all these other, bigger ideas. At least that's how I see it."

"So he's, like, ridiculously smart?"

"He is." She nods. "At math, anyway. He's published four books on mathematical theory."

Holly smiles, thinking of the books sitting on a shelf back at home with her name in them. There were not many five-year-olds in her class that could boast a book dedicated to them. And by the time he dedicated another one to her in her late teens, she wasn't about to boast that.

"But," she continues. She is enjoying telling Gail about her family. She misses her parents, she realises. Sometimes she wishes they'd never left Toronto. "He is like the clichéd absent-minded professor sometimes. He's smart but still completely fails at everyday stuff. He never remembers birthdays. Mom has to tell him. He has a shocking memory. He's a terrible driver. The best, though," Holly looks over at Gail, smiling, "Or the worst, depending on how you look at it: Mom told me last year, there was one time that she had to remind him to put on pants to go down to the store one day."

Gail laughs. "Wow." She says, "Just wow."

"Sure, it was the middle of summer, but …." She shakes her head, smiling. "Oh, and he is completely hopeless at remembering to return his students' assignments. We once had a small group of kids banging on our door because it was a week before exams and he still hadn't given their final test papers back." Holly laughs, remembering the embarrassed but determined little group, desperate to know if they had passed. Her mom, mortified, had ordered her sheepish father into his study to search out their papers among the stacks of paper and books in the hellhole that could loosely be described as a study—except there was hardly any space left to actually study—telling him not to come out until he found them. Then she had fed them all tea and apologised for his almost embarrassing levels of scattiness.

"It was kind of hilarious. He can be a little out there. Oh and he also totally digs a good conspiracy theory." She tells Gail, pulling up at her apartment.

"You are explaining so much to me right now." Gail shakes her head, giving Holly a sly look.

"What, exactly, do you mean?" Holly asks, pocketing her keys and turning to Gail, knowing exactly what she means.

"Nothing," Gail tells her, shaking her head, wide-eyed, innocent.

"Don't nothing me!" Holly giving her leg a squeeze.

"Well, Holly, you're amazing," Gail says, speaking like she's patiently addressing a somewhat slow person, or maybe a child, "But you're a little odd sometimes."

"Is that so?" Holly grins. If this is being odd, she'll take it. Besides, it's hard to take accusations of crazy seriously from someone as batty as Gail

"And, you know, hearing about your Dad, well," Gail shrugs, "It explains a lot. Just saying."

"Oh because your parents sound so normal." Holly scoffs, opening the car door.

"Well none of my family ever left the house WITHOUT PANTS, Holly." Gail retorts, climbing out of the car, following Holly to the front door of her building. She stands close, hooking her hand into Holly's back pocket as she unlocks the door and lets them in.

"Well, no one else in my family usually does, either," Holly tells her, nudging the heavy door open with her shoulder. "Besides," she continues, leading the way down the hall, "You'd probably really like him, and he," she turns and kisses Gail on the nose as they stop at her apartment door. "He'd think _you _are hilarious."

"I have no idea whether that was a compliment, or an insult, or what." Gail tells her, eyes narrowed, following her through the door.

Holly smiles to herself. And that is exactly what she wanted.

** To be continued. Your reviews are always appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4: Gail and Holly

**Holly**

"Three words you should never be able to describe _yourself_ as: charismatic, enigmatic or," Gail screws up her face, "quirky."

"It is a little weird," Holly agrees, chewing on the last of her toast.

"People should describe you as words like enigmatic and charismatic, not the other way around. It's so … egotistical." Gail shakes her head and scours the page further. "Ooh, here's another: mysterious." She shakes her head. "You should never, ever call yourself mysterious. I mean," she looks up, frowning, "If you call yourself mysterious, doesn't that mean you can't figure yourself out? And doesn't that say you are actually just kind of dumb?"

"Gail, give me back my paper," Holly laughs. She returned from the café bathroom to find that Gail has purloined her newspaper and is busily scouring the personals for her own personal entertainment. "Although you might find a date in there for Friday night," she adds

Gail looks up, frowning.

"Why, Holly, would I need a date for Friday night?" She snaps the paper shut and passes it to her. "Something you'd like to share?"

"Well, actually," Holly says carefully, taking the proffered paper, not sure how Gail is going to take her news. She folds the newspaper back into shape and tucks it on the seat next to her. "I'm not going to be around Friday to go out like we planned."

"Oh, why not?" Gail pushes her plate away and folds her arms on the table in front of her.

"I'm going to Montreal for the weekend to see my folks. It's kind of last minute. It's my mom's birthday and I thought I'd surprise her," she says hurriedly, "I'm taking Friday off and coming back Sunday." She drops her hand on Gail's arm for a second and then takes it back. "Sorry I didn't tell you until now. I only decided last night and I didn't want to call you so late and …"

"Holly," Gail leans forward, "It's fine. I can, despite what you might think, survive a weekend without you."

" I didn't mean …"

"Holly, I'm kidding" Gail reaches over and squeezes her arm, smiling. "I may possibly even miss you," she adds, waving to the waiter for the bill.

Holly smiles, relieved. She really wasn't sure how this would go, and she doesn't like changing plans on people, but, after that conversation with Gail the other night about her parents, Holly had a serious spell of missing them. Then, after a long catch-up with her father on the phone last night, they somehow found themselves hatching the plan for a surprise visit for her mother's birthday and the next thing Holly knew, she was booking a plane ticket.

"I want to go to away for the weekend," Gail sighs as the waiter rushes past, dropping the bill on the table. "Instead of working _another_ Saturday night."

"We should," Holly tells her, taking the bill from the dish before Gail can. "We should take a weekend and go somewhere some time."

"Paris?" Gail says, sitting up in her seat and grinning like a kid.

"Oh I would that I could, Gail," she grins. "But I was thinking somewhere a little more local. And cheaper. Paris, Ontario, maybe?"

She takes one look at the expression on Gail's face and laughs. "Kidding. We'll come up with somewhere." She places some money on top of the bill. "Come on, we better go."

They leave the warmth of the café for the biting cold of the snowy street.

"You want me to drive you to the airport?" Gail asks her as they get into the car. "I have Friday morning off."

"Sure, that'd be great." Holly says, pulling out her keys. But before she can even put them in the ignition, Gail has leaned over, grabbing her collar and pulling her toward her.

"I'm going to be late," Holly warns her.

"I know," Gail shrugs, kissing her. "But I have to get it while I can, you know. You're leaving me."

Holly loops an arm around her neck, kissing her again and then pulls back to look into those impossible, addictive eyes.

"I'm going for three days," she says, smiling. "_Barely_ three days. We've gone a longer time apart when we are both in the same city."

"I know," Gail tells her, "But shut up and let me enjoy you for a minute, before I have to go do something highly unenjoyable like highway patrol or desk duty all day." Gail tells her.

"Okay," Holly agrees, resting her forehead on Gail's.

"Don't have too much fun," Gail whispers.

"I don't know what you think I'm going to be doing all weekend," Holly grins, pulling her head back and kissing her. "I won't be scouting the gay bars and partying, you know. I probably won't even leave my parents' apartment."

"Good." Gail kisses her again, and then releases her collar so she is free to start the car. She slides the key into the ignition

"I still wish I was going away for the weekend," Gail sighs, stretching out her arms to touch the dashboard, stretching and yawning.

"You'll have to come with me. One day." Holly says, pulling out into the road.

"Yeah, one day." Gail says.

She is quiet until Holly pulls up at the station.

"By the way, I want a present," Gail says.

"From Montreal?" Holly asks, wrinkling her nose.

"That's what I said," Gail tells her, lofty. "Just so I know you are really there, and not running around behind my back."

"Oh, of course." Holly nods, smiling. "I'll do that." She reaches over and squeezes Gail's leg. "Have a great day, crazy person."

"Oh, I plan to, Holly." Gail tells her, climbing out of the car. "I plan to."

* * *

**Gail**

Who, oh why did Gail not check her phone before answering it?

Because she is an idiot.

Because she was too distracted by her own good mood from starting the day with an early breakfast with Holly at a café, by for once actually having had plenty of time to drink appropriate amounts of coffee and ease into the day and because of that, she forgot to be wary.

Because her horoscope told her everything was supposed go as planned today.

Because she thought it would be Chris or Dov ringing- only one of those two would dare call this early.

Because she forgot that there is one other person who might call this early.

Oh yeah, and because she's an idiot again.

And because of all this Gail let her guard down, plucking out her phone and answering it as she juggled keys and bag, not looking at the name on the screen first.

Her bad.

And now her day is crumbling around her. A grenade launched into her ideal morning, lobbed by one Elaine Peck.

"Now, you be sure and get your uniform dry cleaned before the awards. You don't want to look scruffy for the photos."

"Of _course_ I will," Gail sighs, her third already for the phone call.

Why does she even need to say that, Gail wonders? Gail prides herself on _never_ looking scruffy, especially not in her uniform. And it is not like her mother hasn't spent the last however many years drilling into her that presentation is half the path to success—just another of her 'just helping you be the best you can be' pieces of mom advice.

"Anyway," Elaine changes the subject, "Tell me about this Traci girl your brother's seeing. I don't think I know her. She's the one who beat you for that detective rotation, isn't she?"

"Yes, that would be the one." Gail suppresses another sigh, leaning against the boot of Oliver's car, which is already parked in the lot.

"Don't be bitter, darling. I saw that young woman's application and she, unlike some people I won't mention, put in some very hard work to make herself ideal for that position. That girl clearly has drive."

By which she means Gail does not.

"And you can't just rest on the family name to get promotions, you know."

"I know," Gail mutters. She checks her watch. Her mother seems to be working toward a new record: two bullets in two minutes. She'd be impressed if she weren't so dispirited.

Besides, Gail has no intention of resting on her family name. The one time she ever tried to use her Peck backing in any real way it had nearly backfired on her in a seriously bad, nearly career-ending way.

And she hadn't even thought of applying for that detective rotation until she was pushed into it. Everyone at 15 knew it was Traci's for the taking. That application had been the result of yet another 'serious talk about her future', endured on a drive up to the cottage for her father's birthday last year. One of those occasions when her mother actually had her in her clutches long enough to manage to drill some tangible fear into her of never making it anywhere, of staying on patrol until she retires while everyone around her moves up in the world. Next thing Gail knew she was rushing in an application on the last day they were to be accepted. She has to admit; her mother does know how to push her buttons when she wants to.

"Anyway, your brother seems quite taken with this woman."

"Hmm," Gail say, noncommittal, not sure if this is information coming from Steve or the from great police grapevine. And the last thing she wants do is grass on her brother for anything, especially at the moment when he's helping keep her love life well under wraps.

"I heard she's a single mother, too." Elaine says in a hushed tone. "Doesn't she have enough on her hands?"

"What does _that _mean?" Gail asks, shaking her head and stamping at the snow stuck to her boots.

"I don't know why your brother wants to be burdened with a woman with a child. " Elaine says. "But don't tell him I said that, though. He's a grown up, he doesn't need to hear what his old mother has to say on the matter."

Gail suppresses yet another sigh. Why does her brother not have to hear every opinion his mother has about his life choices? Gail certainly has to.

"So, honey, what about you? Did you call Cecilia's son about that dinner?"

"No, I didn't," Gail says, checking her watch again. She has to end this phone call and she has to end it soon if she wants to recover this day for herself.

"Oh why not? He's just moved back from the States. He's working for the Chief's office, you know."

"I .. I haven't had time. Work's been really busy," Gail stutters, wondering how much this lie is going to turn around and bite her later, when her mother inevitably finds out about Holly.

"Well you should get right on that call, sweetheart. He sounds like a good one and someone will snap him up quickly."

"Okay, mom," Gail says, willing to agree to anything to get off the phone. "I have to go. I'm about to start work."

"Okay, well don't be late on my account. But we need to talk about planning your Aunt's birthday soon. You didn't forget to get her present, did you?"

"No, I did not," Gail sighs.

"And you got the seats she wanted? In the circle?"

"Yes," Gail clenches her teeth. Why does her mother think she is completely incapable of the easiest of tasks, like buying ballet tickets, but then wants her to apply for promotions she's not qualified left right and centre?

"I have to go," she says again.

"Okay, well bye, honey. Have a wonderful day."

No chance now.

"Yeah, see you."

Gail pulls her bag onto her shoulder, sighs, and heads for the entrance. She feels weary already. There is nothing, nothing like a call from her mother to start the day.

"Hey,"

She looks up. It's Andy, arriving for the same shift. She looks tired. And sad. As much as she doesn't want to, Gail can't help feeling the teensiest bit sorry for her. Things have been a mess for everyone lately, but especially for Andy. Sure, it's partly of Andy's own making, but Gail knows what it is like to be in that situation. It doesn't make it any better. In fact, it's worse.

"Hey," Gail replies quietly, pulling open the door and letting her through first.

They fall into step together down the hall. Neither says anything. Gail considers pretending she has to go somewhere to cut this awkward silent lockstep toward the locker room short, but she doesn't have time to take detours now.

"So, uh, how are you?" Andy asks, tentative.

"Fine," Gail tells her in a voice that she hopes reminds Andy: _we don't do this any more_. Gail might feel sorry for her, but that does not mean she is anywhere near ready to step back into that thing they had, that thing that was slowly inching its way toward becoming a friendship of some kind. Gail and her pride are not ready to do that yet.

"Uh, I have to go see Frank before parade." Andy mutters. Gail watches her speed off down the hall.

Looks like they both had the same idea.


	5. Chapter 5: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

"So, what do we have to do, exactly?" Gail asks, sitting down in one of the comfy office chairs, resting her elbows on the padded arms and spinning from side to side. Everything is always much better in the detectives' offices, even the furniture. It's not fair.

Traci goes over to the corner table and picks up a large box. She lugs it over to the middle of the room and dumps it between them in the spare space where the two desks meet. She opens it up and pulls out a fistful of file folders.

"We," she tells her, "have to go through every single file in this box and pull out any on prisoners who worked in the textiles shop when they did time. They think that is where these guys were operating from." She thrusts the handful of files at Gail. "Or if they had any reports of altercations with Perez inside. Motive."

"Okay," says Gail, shrugging. "Sounds easy." She flick open the first file and gets to work. "I did not expect to spend Friday night doing something like this," she says, shaking her head as she leans over the first page.

"Well they need this done quickly." Traci asks, sitting down opposite her with her own pile of case files, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. "Besides, did you want to spend the night breaking up bar fights and handcuffing drunks?"

"Oh believe me, Traci, I am not complaining," Gail mutters.

Gail is _definitely_ not complaining. When she had offered to drive Holly to the airport this morning, she'd forgotten to ask one very, very important question— what time her flight was. Getting up before daylight is never, ever a good thing in Gail's book. Neither is it exactly the best idea when you have to work a nightshift that night, not when you drank so much coffee, just to handle the morning airport traffic, that you can't even attempt to nap later. Finding out she's been enlisted to stay off patrol and help Traci hunt out suspects for a murder case is the best news she's heard all day- and night.

She flicks through the file, scanning the pages, checking the employment section and any incident reports for the name Perez. Finding none, she puts it aside and picks up another. It is boringly easy work.

"Hey, so how's Holly?" Traci says after a couple of minutes of quite work.

"What do you mean?" Gail looks over the box at Traci, eyes narrowed, wondering where this is going.

"Uh, I meant, _how's Holly?_" Traci says, frowning at her reaction "Why so weird, Gail? She's your friend and I am asking how she is." She shrugs, looking back at her file. "I like her. She's cool."

"Oh, well, she's fine." Gail says, leaning back over her file and twisting her earring as she flicks through the pages. "She's in Montreal, visiting her parents."

"And you're like, totally dating her right?"

Gail looks up quickly. Traci is grinning at her over the box, clearly pleased at her delivery of that deliberate surprise curveball.

Gail presses her lips together and tries to push back the blush that is starting to tint her face.

"Sorry?" she asks, trying to feign indifference, although she knows it is too late. No one yet has asked her this question outright, not even Steve.

"You. Dating. Holly." Traci says slowly. "Want me to spell it for you?"

"How did you know?" Gail asks quietly, terse, the blush in full bloom, her eyes fixed on the page in front of her.

"I'd already pretty much figured it out. And then I asked your brother."

"Steve told you?" Gail snaps, looking over at Traci for the first time since the conversation took this turn. "How would he know?" she asks, even though she is well aware he does. She just doesn't know what else to say.

"It's pretty obvious, Gail."

"So?" Gail replies, flicking closed the file and grabbing another. "It's still none of your business."

"Hey," Traci says, softer. "You know, it's no big deal."

"I know," Gail sighs, caving. She knows Traci has been onto this thing with Holly, and she doesn't really even care if she knows. Traci is the closest she has come to having a female friend in a long, long time. "I just don't want everyone talking about it."

"They aren't."

'Well, good." Gail unfolds a creased page inside the file and flattens it with her fingers.

"Seriously, Gail. With everything going on, I don't think anyone's thinking about you that hard."

"Got it. Thanks, Trace." She retorts, closing the file, trying not to feel hurt by that statement. It's just Traci being flip, the way Traci is. And the way Gail is, too. This is why they manage to get along.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." Gail mutters. "I just meant … everyone just stopped gossiping about Nick and me and Andy— well they're still gossiping about Andy and Nick," she adds, tapping her pen on the page in front of her. "And now this? I don't want them talking about me again."

Traci doesn't say anything for a moment, closing one file, throwing it onto the growing pile, and grabbing another one.

"Well Gail, I do know what it's like to have to go through something in front of everyone and having them know all about it." She says quietly.

Gail glances at her quickly and then back at her file, frowning.

Jerry.

"So if they do find out," she continues, "It won't be coming from me, okay?"

"Thanks," Gail mutters, flicking her a grateful look before turning to the next file.

"So, let's try again, shall we?" Traci says, digging another pile of files out of the box and dividing them between them. "How is Holly?"

"Holly is good," Gail smiles, but refuses to look at Traci.

"And how is you and Holly?"

"Fine, thank you, Traci," Gail replies still smiling. She cannot, however, stop the return of the blush. "It's …" she stops.

There it is. The name.

"Perez," she says, quickly handing the file to Traci.

* * *

**Holly**

Holly pulls the plug from the sink, letting the soapy water drain away, and picks up the tea towel.

"At least let me help you dry," her mother says.

Holly shakes her head. "Nope. It's not allowed," she tells her. "It's your birthday."

"Then leave them for your father. He'll do them."

"Are you kidding?" Holly grins. "No he won't. I'll leave them to drain, though." She puts the tea towel down and comes over to the kitchen table. "Drink your bubbly and relax," she tells her, sitting down on a wooden chair at the other end of the table.

Her mother is sitting at her favourite spot, at the far end, squeezed in her chair between the wall and the short edge of the kitchen table. This is where she always sits. She sat there in the old flat back in Toronto, and she sits there here in Montreal. Her station. Whenever they are on the phone, Holly pictures her in this very spot. It is where she unwinds after work, where she does her reading and her crosswords and where she makes her phone calls. And beside her, on the table, is the same array of things Holly will always connect to her mother, the framed photo of her parents before they came to Canada on the wall above her, a tube of her rose-scented hand cream, the woven blue drink coaster for her tea cup- now replaced by a champagne flute in honour of the celebrations. Only the small pile of books that usually sits at her elbow, ready to be exchanged, read for unread, is gone, moved temporarily the accommodate the dinner guests.

She holds up the remainder of the bottle of champagne as Holly sits. Holly nods and her mother refills her a glass. Holly takes the proffered flute and lifts it. They have had plenty of toasts tonight already, but she can't help another of her own.

"Happy birthday, Ma."

"Thanks, hon." Her mother mirrors the lift of her glass and takes a sip, blinking at the bubbles and then gazing down the table at Holly. "It is good to see you," she says for the umpteenth time today.

"It's good to see you, too."

Her mother just smiles at her, resting her chin in her hand. Her hair, which is usually always tied in a loose bun on the back of her head is more carefully arranged tonight, in a kind of chignon, a nod to her birthday celebration, along with the rich blue blouse and the gold earrings is wearing in place of her usual simple studs.

She looks older on this visit. Now that can only see them periodically, Holly is starting to notice more the gradual aging of her parents. She is by no means an old lady, but seems to be heading that towards something that no longer passes for middle age either. She is still lovely, though, wearing her age well and without effort. But the striking nature of her dark looks has faded to something more subtle and serene.

"You look well, daughter."

Her mother loves to call her that: daughter, with a faux but affectionate sternness.

"I was just thinking that you do, too."

"Well, lucky us then." She tips her glass toward Holly again before sipping.

"So, uh, did Dad tell you I'm seeing someone?" Holly asks, pressing her fingers into a chip on the edge of the table, a groove so old it has worn smooth and to the same colour as the rest of the dark wooden surface. She always used to look for it as a child and do the same thing she is now, running a finger along it.

Her mother nods, staring at the glass in her hands.

"He did mention it." She looks up at Holly. "But I was waiting for you to tell me."

"I was waiting for you to ask. You never ask, you know."

"It doesn't mean I don't want to know, Holly. I just prefer to let you tell me things when you are ready." She sighs. "Your grandmother was _such_ a stickybeak, and I hated it. I felt like I never had any space from her." She shakes her head. "I don't want to do that to you."

"Well, thanks for that," Holly tells her, smiling, remembering her grandmother, who always wanted to know every single thing about everything and everyone.

"So, tell me about her," her mother says, tipping a little more champagne into her glass.

"She's … funny and she's smart. She's a cop ..." Holly pauses. How do you describe someone like Gail? "I don't know, all the ways I can think of describing her seem trite and stupid," Holly flicks her hands as if to bat away the banal adjectives that keep popping into her mind. "I can't think of what to tell you."

"Sometimes the fact you can't describe someone— that you feel them to be indescribable— can speak volumes itself, don't you think?" Her mother says.

Holly smiles. "So true. Anyway," she shrugs. "She's kind of great."

"And are you happy?"

"I was already happy," Holly smiles, but the question irks her slightly. She hates that this question is really only ever asked in relation to relationships, as if this is the only time you can ever be happy.

When Holly met Gail she had already done a lot with her life to make sure she was feeling at peace with herself again. Breaking up with Robin after the decision to try for a baby had hit her hard, even though she had been the one to call it. She had been sure it was the right thing to do, but it didn't stop her questioning herself because when something that beckoned real commitment came along, everything she thought they were together was ceased to be. She does not regret the decision, but she couldn't help questioning herself afterward, who she was and what she actually might want. It took a while to feel easy in the world— and with herself— again. She got through that time by taking some advice someone had given her a long time ago, by making it a rule not to say no to anything for a while. And she did just that. And it worked. So, by the time Gail came barrelling in, proffering friendship— or something— with her particularly beguiling brand of Gail-ness, Holly didn't say no to that, either. And neither did Gail, luckily.

"She has never been with a woman before," she says, tipping her glass slightly, watching the bubbles rise away from the glass. "And I think she is kind of worried how her parents will take it," Holly adds. "Her mother sounds kind of … controlling."

"Well then, if the news is tough for her mother to take, it probably won't be an easy time for …" she pauses, "You didn't tell me her name."

"Gail."

"For Gail," her mother says.

Holly smiles. It sounds strange to hear her name coming out of her mother's mouth.

"Probably not," Holly says, thinking about how Gail gets even when she mentions Elaine Peck, which is often in anger but sometimes just with a kind of weary resentment. She fills her mother in on the little she knows of Gail's family, her mother's attempted date set-ups, her funny but cynical brother, the family line of policing, the burdens Gail seems to feel to perform like the rest of her family.

"It sounds like her mother has a lot expectations for her."

Holly nods. In some ways, although she is not necessarily looking forward to meeting Gail's mother, she is glad to finally get this opportunity to anonymously gain her own sense at this awards night, to get some idea of what this woman, who takes up so much of Gail's mental energy, is actually like in person.

"And I'm afraid it sounds, if she really is trying so hard to marry her daughter off," her mother chuckles, "that she won't take this news very easily."

"I know." Holly chuckles, "Thank you for never, ever doing that to me, even when I was straight."

Her mother nods, smiling, but doesn't say anything.

"Was it tough for you to take, when I came out?" Holly ventures. She has never, ever asked her mother this question. When she came out to her parents, it was with the arrogance that comes with being young, being completely in love, and so aggressively— maybe defensively she now realises— embracing this new version of herself, telling herself she didn't care what anyone thought.

She remembers that her mother had taken the news quietly- both her parents did, really- and, relieved, Holly had been happy to leave it that way, taking off for the summer with her new girlfriend on a road trip. By the time she returned, she had assumed it was a given and that they were used to the idea. It wasn't until later she ever gave any thought to how her mother felt, of the possibility that she might not have taken the news as easily as she seemed to. But the opportunity to ask has never come up. Now, with the safety of distance, and this warm moment in the kitchen, it seems the right time to ask.

Her mother is quiet, staring past Holly for a moment before speaking.

"Not upset because you decided you wanted to be with women," she says, swallowing. "But I _was_ upset. It took some time, I admit."

"Why then?"

She smiles a little sadly. " I was upset, I think, because I felt like I, being your mother, should have already known this big thing about you."

"But I pretty much told you as soon as I figured it out," Holly tells her, surprised, even though she asked, by her mother's unusual candidness. She is not usually so forward with her feelings. "I wanted you to know."

"I know," her mother says, twirling the champagne flute between her fingers. "I don't mean that. I mean that I should have figured it out myself earlier." She shrugs. "I don't know. I just felt like a bad mother because it was a surprise. Like I hadn't been paying close enough attention, or I would have already known."

"That's silly." Holly tells her, shaking her head, her hand returning to that groove in the table, wishing she hadn't made her mother feel that way— and that she'd had no idea she had until now.

"I know, Holly, but mothers think these silly things all the time when it comes to their kids. You'll find this out one day." She sighs. "And anyway, I got over it."

"I'm sorry," Holly says quietly, staring down at the tabletop.

"Don't you dare be sorry." Her mother sounds almost stern. "Anyway," her voice softens, "However she reacts, Gail's mother probably won't have an easy time with it, either, given how new this news will be to her."

"I guess," Holly shrugs. "And I guess we'll find out how she feels sooner or later."

"Well, whatever happens, I'd like to meet Gail one day," her mother says.

"You will, I hope." Holly smiles at her. _I am so luck_y, she thinks, a thought she has had so many times in her life, beginning as a teenager when she began to encounter all the kinds of parents that could exist in this world for the people around her. Some were like her parents, but some were tough, some overbearing, some absent and some even unkind. Her parents have always been consistent: present, kind and interested in her as their child and as an independent human being. This might be as unreserved as her mother has ever been about this, loosened by the champagne and Holly's own honesty, but even though she rarely spoke her feeling aloud, Holly never doubted her investment for a moment. And Holly knows she has been deeply fortunate to be able to have this as a taken-for-granted fact of her life.

Holly takes a last sip of her champagne and listens to the sound of a newsreader saying something vitally important about something in the next room. She smiles. Her father is catching up with the late news. It must have taken all his willpower not to go in and switch on the television while the guests were here for dinner. Her father _hates_ missing the nightly news.

As if he knows she is thinking about him, he calls out from the living room to her.

"Holly, your crazy mayor is on the TV again."

"He used to be your mayor, too, Dad, remember?" she reminds him loudly.

"Why do you think we got out?" he calls back

Holly grins.

"I, my darling," her mother stands up slowly, taking her glass to the sink. "Need to go to bed." She turns back and leans down slowly, kissing her on the cheek. "Your mother is old now, you know."

"Not so old yet, Ma," Holly tells her, standing and folding her into a tight hug. "Good night. I love you."

Her mother smiles, her brown eyes warm as she runs a hand through Holly's hair. "Thank you for coming to see me on my birthday. It is the best thing I could have hoped for." She kisses her on the cheek again and walks slowly from the room.

"Don't stay up forever, okay?" she hears her say to her father as she walks through the living room.

Holly puts her own glass on the sink and wanders into the other room. Her father is in his usual armchair; legs sprawled across the ottoman, staring down the news with his coffee cup clutched to his stomach.

"The man is a maniac, Hols." He tells her, his eyes never parting from the screen. Holly grins. Her father loves everything about this story. He likes a bit of anarchy in his politics. It keeps him entertained.

Holly grins. "I am well aware of that, Dad," she tells him, tapping him on his bald patch on her way to the sofa. She flops down into the brown upholstery. "He's my mayor, remember?"

He chuckles.

She pulls her phone from her pocket. There is a message from Gail. She opens it.

_Told you I'd miss you. x_

Holly smiles, and settles onto the couch.


	6. Chapter 6: Gail and Holly

** Gail**

Gail has ten minutes to find some lunch before she has to get back to booking. Planning on seeing if anyone from the last shift left anything in the fridge, she gets out of her chair. That's when she gets the message.

_Mom knows _

That's all it says.

That's all it needs to say. Gail knows exactly what Steve is talking about. Sitting back down at her desk, she hurriedly types her response.

_How?_

The answer comes immediately.

_Grapevine, I guess. I didn't tell her. Promise. I'll call you later._

And Gail knows he is not lying. Steve is an ass, but he never betrays her. It's their one Golden Rule. Torture each other, by all means, but do not rat out to mother.

_Crap_.

* * *

**Holly**

Gail opens the door.

Holly hands her the t-shirt straight away.

Gail holds it up in front of her and stares at it_. I __Love__ Montreal_. One of those ubiquitous tourist t-shirts every city seems to have now, with the heart and the 80-s typewriter font.

"As promised," Holly steps through the door. "An alibi. Just so you know I really was in Montreal."

"Very funny," Gail smiles, dubious.

Holly holds up the beer she brought. "I also have beer." She passes it to Gail, presses her hands to Gail's cheeks and kisses her. "Hi. I missed you," she tells her, pushing her hair behind her ears and kissing her again.

"Hey."

Holly frowns. Gail looks, well, she is not sure what it is, but she knows it isn't good.

"What's up?"

Gail doesn't answer. She just turns from her and trudges slowly back to the living room, dropping into an armchair and putting the beer on the table.

Holly follows her, perching on the edge of the couch. The living room is strangely tidy. Someone has been cleaning. It is without the usual array of debris of the night before and there are even flowers on the coffee table, shoved into a jar without water. Holly has to fight the urge to take the jar into the kitchen sink and give them the much-needed sustenance they will need to survive their time in this apartment.

Instead, she looks over at Gail, who is burrowed in the chair, frowning at her hands; her knees huddled to her chest.

"What's wrong, Gail?"

"My mother knows, about me and you." Gail doesn't look at her.

"Really?" Holly puts her bag down on the couch and pulls out a beer. She is sure she is going to need it. She passes another to Gail.

"Yep." Gail sighs.

"Did you see her?"

"Nope, she left me a message."

"And?" Holly unscrews the lid and takes a swig.

"Well," Gail takes a deep breath, still staring at her hands. "She has elected, for now, not to freak out at the you being a woman part, and instead to take insult at the fact that I haven't informed her about my new relationship." She hangs air quotes around the relationship part with her fingers.

Holly tries not to take it personally.

"Well," she says, twirling the bottle lid between two fingers, contemplating what this might mean. "I guess we can now get on with her knowing now."

"Are you sure?" Gail mutters.

"Well come on, Gail." Holly leans forward, frowning. "What's she going to do? You're a grown adult and you have a right tell her about your personal life on your own terms."

"I know that, Holly," she snaps, folding her arms across her knees.

"Okay, sorry," Holly says, hands up, placating, wondering at how quickly this has turned to tension between them. "But like you once said, it was inevitable she'd find out. But it's not the end of the world."

Gail just shrugs, saying nothing, picking at the label of her beer, but not opening it.

"And, also like you said, you don't even know how she's going to react," Holly continues. "If you act normal, she'll act normal, maybe?" The statement turns into a question at the last minute.

"It's just annoying." Gail growls. "Now she is going to find a way to wreck any enjoyment I have of this."

"No she is not." Holly says, putting down her beer and folding her arms over her chest. "She's not. I don't know your mother, but she doesn't have any power over us."

"You think?" Gail is sarcastic. "You just wait."

Holly holds back a sigh. It doesn't matter that she has never laid eyes on her, she is already finding this woman mildly annoying. She can cope with her turning Gail into a wreck at times— someone clearly traumatised her at some point. And if she'd had to, she'd have laid bets on her mother a long time ago from what she's heard. But Holly refuses to let this woman she has never met have this much say in her relationship. No way. She shakes her head. It's starting to tick her off, frankly.

She is about to say as much when they are distracted by the sound of the front door opening. Chris strides in, throwing his bag onto the floor and standing in the doorway, waving a hello.

"Chris," Gail says to him, "Tell Holly about my mother."

"Oh, Elaine. Yeah, Elaine is _something_." He nods, as if to indicate that is all he can muster to say on the matter— all that someone as polite Chris will allow himself to say at least. He turns toward his bedroom.

Holly sighs. What is it with this woman?

"It gets worse," Gail frowns.

"What?" Holly narrows her eyes.

"She wants to meet you. She invited you to lunch this Sunday."

"So?" Holly shrugs, frowning, snatching up her beer. "I'll come to lunch this Sunday. Should I bring anything?"

Gail just looks at her, for the longest time, an unreadable expression on her face. Finally, she shakes her head, "No, don't bring anything."

"Okay, I won't." Holly frowns.

"Okay," Gail repeats, opening her beer and staring

Why does it feel like they just had a fight?

She looks at Gail. She is staring out the window. She can't tell, from the expression on her face whether she is angry, or upset or something else. Whichever it is, it is nothing she wants her to be right now.

"Hey, come here." Holly puts her beer down, goes over, reaches down and takes Gail's beer too. She places it on the coffee table and turns back around, taking Gail by both her hands and pulling her up to standing.

"You know what? Let's not worry about it." She tells her, wrapping her arms around Gail's waist, and pulling her against her. "There's nothing we can do about it right now."

Gail nods, but doesn't say anything, resting her forehead against Holly's chin.

"Okay," she mumbles.


	7. Chapter 7:Gail and Holly

**Holly**

Gail leaves her at the door. Not literally. But Holly feels the emotional abandonment instantly. The moment Gail turns the key in the lock, pushes open the door and calls out into the cavernous entrance room, that small but charged current of hyper awareness that usually runs between them when they are in the same space disappears.

Maybe in another circumstance she might have been slightly miffed. But on this occasion Holly gets it. It's not a betrayal, just a necessary measure of self-protection on Gail's part.

And the protection, as Holly would have predicted, is against Elaine Peck. This is her turf. When they walk in, even Gail hesitates at the living room, calling out into the house, rather than just walking inside her own childhood home.

While they wait, Holly takes a chance to look around her. The house is as much of a display home on the inside as it is on the outside. On the outside it is not quite a McMansion, but bordering on it— a definite attempt at ostentation squeezed, turrets and all, onto a regular suburban block. The inside is clean and minimal, all tasteful furniture, tasteful beige, tasteful pre-framed art, tasteful blah. It is so removed from the eclectic clutter of books and plants and scratched woodwork Holly grew up around.

Elaine appears a minute or two after they walk into the living area, fashionably late to her own hosting. She is shorter than Holly would have imagined, given Gail and Steve's height and her formidable reputation. She is dressed neatly but casually in jeans and a buttoned up shirt, her feet clad in spotless little tennis shoes. The elaborate casualness of her make-up and hair, however, tells Holly that plenty of effort goes into this offhand weekend look.

Elaine walks straight over to her daughter, barely glancing at Holly, and takes Gail by both hands and kisses her firmly on the cheek.

"Look at you," she says, stepping back and appraising Gail.

"Yeah, same as last week," Gail tells her, before retrieving her hands and flicking one uncomfortably between Elaine and Holly.

"Mum, this is Holly, Holly this is my mother, Elaine," she says quietly.

Elaine gives Holly what is clearly her signature, charming smile, and offers a well-manicured hand to be shaken.

"It is lovely to meet you," she says, taking the proffered bottle of suitably expensive red (Holly couldn't help it. Never go to someone's home empty-handed, her mother had drilled into her), her eyes quickly appraising the label before turning straight back to Gail.

"How are you, my darling?" She asks Gail, turning to walk out of the room, clearly expecting them to follow.

Gail ignores the question.

"Where's Dad?"

"Oh, probably out in the shed." Elaine leads them briskly into the large kitchen, putting down Holly's bottle and pulling another open bottle— white wine— from the stainless steel refrigerator. Holly looks around in the spotless white kitchen and wonders where the meal is coming from. It doesn't look like anything resembling cooking has happened here in a while.

"So, how is work?' Elaine takes three glasses from a cabinet and pours them each a glass without asking or offering first. "How is Frankie?" she then asks without waiting for an answer to her last question.

She holds out a glass to each of them, giving Holly a smile, before turning back to Gail and sitting at the bench and gesturing them to join her. "Poor Noelle." She shakes her head. "A cancer scare at this time of her life. Awful." She shakes her head,

"What?" Gail pauses, her glass halfway her mouth. "I … I didn't know anything about that."

"Oh, dear," Elaine says, not looking the slightest bit contrite, Holly notes. "I suppose that was a secret."

"Well maybe, yeah," Gail agrees, the sarcasm dripping.

"Honey," Elaine leans forward, picking at a strand of Gail's hair. "Is your hairdresser on holiday? Your roots are showing." She says this as though Gail has done something far more worrying, like forgotten to shower. "I've always said," she continues, "If you want people to believe your hair really is that colour, you have to stay on top of it. It's a job."

"Mom, I don't think anyone thinks …"

"So, are you girls hungry? I'll call your brother. He should be here any minute, but you know what he's like." She hops down from her stool and strides out of the room, arms swinging like she is on the most important of missions.

The moment she leaves the room, Gail takes a hefty sip of wine, reaches for the bottle, pours a little more and turns to Holly, her eyes a silent plea, _can we go now_? Holly just smiles, picks up her hand and kisses it quickly before putting it down on the bench, glad to have her back, even for a moment.

Lunch happens quickly. The food materialises in the form of quiche and salad the moment Steve arrives. Bill, Gail's father, a tall, craggy man joins them at the last minute at the dining table.

Elaine runs the show. From ordering everyone to sit, to telling Bill which bottles to bring in from the kitchen, to serving up the lunch singlehandedly, the table is very much her stage. She also runs the conversation, shifting from topic to topic as if ticking off a list of pressing questions she prepared earlier. The family seems used to it. Holly feels she had better get used to it, too, but it seems more like a strategic planning session than a lunch.

Holly had expected an interrogation of some sort, given why she is here, but it never comes. The questions are cursory, scattered queries: job, parents, where she grew up, if she rents or owns. But they are merely polite inquiries and there is rarely, if any, follow-up. It's weird and not at all what she expected given Gail's quiet panic about Elaine's demand to meet her.

But as she sits back and takes in the orchestration of this rigorously casual Sunday lunch, she gradually starts to get the picture of what this lunch is really about. She hasn't been invited to lunch to be scrutinised— well she _has_, but not openly and that's not the point. She has been invited to lunch here to observe, to learn an important pre-emptory lesson, crafted by Elaine Peck, in understanding who is in charge around these parts. Holly, she realises, is here to be shown the power that lies in being _the_ Peck. This lunch is a warning.

So, she is largely left to witness to the Peck merry-go-round of shoptalk, largely played out between Steve and Elaine. Aside from those perfunctory getting-to-know you questions, Holly is free to slip into the preferred— and required— position of non-participant observer of the mythic, and yet somehow totally mundane Family Peck in action.

She eats her food and tries to follow the conversation, a discussion about some detail Steve is working on, something that Elaine is clearly somehow involved with at the bureaucratic end, but there is too much lingo and too many unfamiliar names of people with jobs and habits and arrest records and back-stories she clearly does not know to follow.

Gail and Bill don't add much either, except when called upon to contribute by Elaine's demand. She notices the insane amount of shrugging coming from both Gail and her Dad. Bill just seems to shrug because he is clearly one of those men of few words, and for him a shrug is acquiescence. He seems to know it will pass as participation.

"Must all sound like babble to you," he says to her at one point, a friendly aside.

Holly nods and smiles, but doesn't say anything.

Instead she watches Gail graze around the quiche on her plate, eating the salad, and then picking at the crust, leaving the dreaded egg-y part to congeal slowly. She steals a quick glance at Holly every now and then, but never for long enough to communicate anything.

In fact Gail seems to be so far away that when her mother turns to her, she jumps at the question thrown down the table.

"So, sweetheart, have you applied for any of the new rotations coming up this winter?"

"No," Gail shakes her head. "You know that."

"Well, you better get thinking about something soon, pumpkin."

Elaine throws endearments into her conversations like they are punctuation, but they don't sound that endearing to Holly.

Gail doesn't say anything, just picks up another forkful of greens and chews mechanically.

Holly is distracted for a moment by Steve proffering a bottle of wine. She nods and he tops up her glass, giving her a conspiratorial smile, a smile that tells her he is pretty sure he is saying she'll need it. He is right.

"Seriously honey, you've been playing at rookie for long enough. You need to start moving up the ladder soon and get noticed, or you'll get left behind." Elaine leans forward, plucking her own wine glass from the table and sipping. "Seriously Gail, get on it. Don't think this award will get you anywhere with your superiors."

Holly watches Gail stop chewing momentarily, then restart, robotic.

"They all know it's just a public relations exercise." Elaine tells her, breezy. "Don't think of it as any sort of laurel you can rest on."

Gail just blinks at her plate.

"I won't." The words are thick and quiet.

Steve glances at Gail briefly and changes the subject, "So, Ma, did you hear O'Halloran got fired? Six months before his retirement."

"Yes, I did." Elaine takes the bait and swings back to him, "What did you hear about it? Tell!"

And they are off.

Holly takes another sip of her wine and looks over at Gail. She is just sitting there, looking at her plate. She has never seen her so inert, so impassive to attack. If anyone else had said something like that, Holly is willing to bet Gail would jump down his or her throat in a second. But Elaine Peck's particular brand of assailment seems to render her immobile.

She knows that Gail partly agrees with what her mother is saying about the award—she's said as much herself. But she also knows that there is a part of Gail that is pleased about it. She knows because she extended herself, turned against her own insecurities enough to want Holly to come and see her get it. But Holly also knows that Elaine's nagging is not about the award, it is about putting Gail in her place, somehow. What Holly can't figure out, though, is why she seems to think Gail _needs_ putting in her place. Holly can't imagine her own mother ever saying something like that or saying anything even remotely close to being so offhandedly— and publically— undermining, let alone acting as if it were a maternal favour.

_How exhausting_, Holly thinks. Maybe this lunch is a brief show to demonstrate to Holly who is boss, but this is also a permanent, relentless show for Gail. That has got to be draining. No, Holly is now starting to see what it is about Elaine Peck that makes Gail so defensive— and what it is about Gail that makes her so cautious to seeming vulnerable.

Holly turns to look at Bill, wondering where he fits into this dynamic. But looking at him, she realises he hasn't even been listening. He has his head down, wolfing down his food, a million miles away. That's probably how he has stayed married this long, Holly thinks. He turns off.

When lunch is over, Holly is refused her offer to help clean up. Instead Elaine stands, saying, "Oh no you don't dear. Gail will help, won't you sweetheart? I want some time with my girl."

Gail nods slowly, reaching over to take Holly's plate without looking at her.

"How's the latest brew coming, Dad?" Steve turns to his father.

"Excellent," Bill rubs his hands together. "We should have some ready for Christmas."

"Let's go." Steve gets up. He turns to Holly, grinning. "You should come see this. But get a jacket."

Holly nods, happy at this point to go wherever Elaine is not at this point.

She takes her jacket from the coat rack and follows them through the kitchen to the big wooden back door.

"Where are you going?" Gail calls from her station at the dishwasher.

"To the shed, of course. Come." Steve tells her, pulling on his jacket.

Gail puts down a dish and turns, but Elaine, who is scraping plates at the sink is straight on to her. "Honey, stay in here, would you? I really need to talk to you about your aunt's birthday lunch before you go."

As Holly goes to follow them outside, she sees Gail sigh and turn back to the dishwasher. Poor Gail.

They lead her across a stretch of decking and down some wooden steps into the back garden. They march down a narrow path, recently swept clear of snow, in single file. It is lined on both sides with a thick stand of trees and snow-covered flowerbeds. They are headed, Holly supposes, for the tall wooden structure she assumes is the shed at the bottom of the long yard. When they get there, Bill pulls some keys from his pocket, unlocks the door and pushes it open. The shed has a high wooden roof, large shuttered windows and a pot-bellied stove. Someone has put a lot of work into crafting this space that somehow manages to be more homely than the house. It smells of wood smoke, tempered by a whiff of chemical she can't place. They shuffle inside to be greeted with a scene that looks to Holly like one of her high school science projects.

"Welcome to the Peck distillery," Steve tells her, resting a hand on a tall barrel by the door.

"Wow," she says, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to make sense of the containers and pipes and barrels organised into some logic she cannot interpret on the polished wooden floor. "What exactly are you making?"

"Brandy, mostly," Bill tells her, picking up a jar of reddish amber liquid from a shelf. "Gypsy style."

"I have no idea what that means," Holly confesses.

"It means it's strong," Steve grins at her, opening a bottle and waving it under her nose.

She gets a burning whiff of ethanol laced with some secretive spicy scent.

"I believe you," she laughs, leaning away from it.

"They're fruit brandies, mostly," Bill tells her, more animated than he's been since she got to the house. "Here," he beckons her back over to the door of the shed. She comes over to stand next to him on the step.

He points up at the trees, "Apples over there, for apple brandy." He points to another group of trees, "Cherry over there. The trick is to crush some of the pits into it. There's an almond behind it, and plums by the house for prunes. Apricots and mulberries up at the cottage."

"Wow." Holly stares out into the snowy garden. She can tell there is a lot going on in this industrious yard, despite the thin blanket of snow covering the plants and trees and workbenches. "Did you plant all of these yourself?"

"Yes, when we first moved here, after Gail was born. The front garden is Elaine's, but this, this is mine." He looks around the yard one more time before turning and smiling at her. She smiles right back, recalling the neat privet hedges and manicured lawn at the front of the house, acknowledging the metaphor he is throwing out for her to interpret. The back yard is, indeed, a striking contrast.

"You have a cottage?" She asks.

"Yes, up North. It was my grandparents' place. When we retire I'd like to live up there permanently." He shakes his head, staring back out into the yard. "Summers just aren't enough."

Holly smiles at him again. She can see this quiet, grizzled man living in the woods somewhere, hermetic and happy. She realises that, until now, Gail's father has been a silence, an unspoken presence, unlike the ineffable, ever-impending presence of her mother. Holly hadn't ever given much thought to how he factored in. And now, standing here with him on the steps of his man-made kingdom of respite, he makes some sense of Gail for her. He, at least partly, explains the shifting sands of Gail's moods, oscillating between aggressively _on_, to that dreamy counter-being who, if left to her own devices lapses into a dream state of staring, happily, for hours on end. He, she wonders, might just be what Gail could be if she were allowed to be content with herself. He is the tempering of the parts of Gail that are her mother.

Of course, they make Holly try some of the brandy, the plain spiced stuff that will be used for the Christmas eggnog, and then a sample of the cherry flavour. And just as Steve promised, it is strong. What is it with the Pecks feeding her hard liquor? Holly is not built for drinking strong spirits. But she obediently swallows down the drinks that to her, basically tastes like firewater, and praises it as best she can.

They return to the house, Holly feeling a touch unsteady after the two generous shots of brandy that have chased the lunchtime wine. Bill and Steve stop at the door discussing something to do with distilling that she can't quite follow. She leaves them there to go in search of Gail, who she is sure must need rescuing by now. Gail is sitting on the couch in the living room with her mother. And yes, she looks relieved to see her. She stares up at Holly, her eyes wide open, another _get me out of here_, telegraphed straight at her. Holly wishes she knew how to find a way to end this visit, but the brandy is not exactly helping her in the speedy decision-making department.

"Gail, honey" Elaine interrupts, "Can you go upstairs and get that card for your aunt from my study? I need you and your brother to sign it before you go."

"Okay," Gail mumbles, reluctantly getting up from the sofa, her eyes fixed on Holly as she walks past.

Before Holly can even smile a reassuring smile at her, Elaine breezes right in with a question.

"So Holly, Gail tells me you just finished a paper for a research journal. What was it about?"

"Uh," Holly stutters, trying to collect herself, "It was a paper on performing forensic analysis on bullet wounds in bodies that have been disposed in water."

"Oh, I see. How interesting." Elaine nods, approvingly, patting the sofa, inviting Holly to sit.

Obedient, Holly sits at the far end of the couch.

"It will be good for my Gail to spend some time around someone so driven." She says, rubbing at a smudge on the coffee table. "Tell me, has she talked to you about any career plans? She doesn't tell her mother _anything_."

Holly suppresses a sigh. Here it is. This is the test— a test that barely bothers to disguise itself as anything else. With just this one question she knows she is being slotted into her place. Can she be instrumental? Will she be an ally or will she be a hindrance to Elaine Peck's mothering project?

"Uh, I don't know if she is planning anything," Holly says carefully, wishing she didn't feel quite so tipsy. Then, calculating, she adds, shrugging "We don't really talk about that sort of thing."

"Oh, well then," Elaine says carefully, showing that she received it as Holly intended it to be received— an innocuous, but can't-be-taken-the wrong-way reminder that Elaine and the things she thinks are important have no place in the world of Gail and Holly. It is offered as a small warning that their concerns for Gail are different— and that never the twain will meet. And certainly not behind Gail's back.

"You know, Holly," Elaine tells her, her brows furrowing as much as they can, "Joining the police force saved Gail. My girl was on a rocky road to that point."

Holly stiffens. All she knows in this moment is that she cannot look at Elaine. If she takes in just a glimpse of the look that she knows will be on Elaine's face right now, she will laugh. She knows it.  
"Yeah, she on a rocky road to too much eye make-up and a permanent hangover." Steve says, walking into the living room. "You make it sound like she was on the streets, one step away from giving favours for cash. Hardly the drama you make it, Mom."

"Thanks Steve," Gail says, walking in behind him. She delivers it in a tone that manages to tread the fine line between gratitude and ire. She thrusts a card and an envelope at him.

"Uh Holly, we had better go. " she says, standing in the middle of the room, her hands thrust in her back pockets. "Don't you have to get to that book club meeting?"

"Yes, yes I do," Holly nods decisively, taking the out Gail has given her with both hands and standing up a little wonkily.

"Yeah, I got to run too, Ma," Steve adds, quickly scribbling onto the card, shoving it in the envelope and handing it to Elaine, pressing a kiss on to her proffered cheek.

The farewells are relatively painless. Holly gets a couple of firm handshakes and some polite nice-to-meet-yous, and see-you-at-the-awards-nights and then stands back and watches Gail wrap her arms around her father in what is clearly an exchange of mutual affection. Holly smiles. At least he seems to be an ally. She then watches her submit to a ferocious hug and an all-undertone conversation with her mother as Steve opens the door for them.

Holly steps out onto the outside landing, glad for the rush of cold air to her senses.

"Hang on," Steve mutters to her, holding the door open and waiting for Gail to extricate herself from their mother.

"Leave no man behind, that's our motto," he says.

Holly stifles a laugh as Bill and Elaine come to the door to wave them down the steps.

"Well, that was fun, as ever" Steve mutters, as they beat a hasty retreat away from the house. "See you guys later. It's been real." He strides away to his car, an arm raised in farewell.

* * *

**Holly **

"You have to drive," Holly tells her, watching the Pecks close the front door behind them. She pulls her keys out of her pocket.

"Why?" Gail asks, grumpy, still clearly shrouded in home even though they are finally making their departure.

"Because your father and brother made me drink brandy."

"Oh, then yeah, I better drive." She catches the keys Holly tosses to her and walks around to the driver's side.

Holly waits for her to unlock the door, stamping the freshly fallen snow off her feet and climbs into the car. She yanks the seatbelt across, but it won't give, locking up on her each time she tries. She laughs at her own clumsiness.

"Holly," Gail looks over at her, lips pursed, but a twinkle in her eye, "Are you drunk?"

"Uh, have you had your dear father's hooch?" She finally gets the seatbelt right and clicks it into place. "I might be a little, yes," she admits, nodding.

"Well you better sober up." Gail smirks. "You have book club, remember?"

"Book club." Holly gives her a slap her on the arm. "I can't believe you put me in a book club. What if your parents ask me about it again? Why couldn't you give me an extra-curricular activity I _actually_ do?

"I had to think quick. And they won't remember." Gail says, perfectly assured as she starts the car and waits for it to warm up. "Beside, you'd totally do book club."

"So, what are you doing now?" Holly asks, reaching over and pulling on Gail's ear lobe. "You want to hang out?"

Gail swats her hand away. "Of course I want to hang out, Holly."

"Good, Gail." Holly crosses her arms, nodding, satisfied.

"But we're going to my house."

"Okay." Holly shrugs. She doesn't care where they go. But she does, she realises, want to know why Gail cares. "Why?"

"I kind of feel like paying a game. You know killing some people. She turns and grins. "Via remote control."

"Oh, ha," Holly chuckles. Therapy. Fair enough. "Then let's go to your house."

Gail grabs her hand quickly, kisses it, and pulls away from the kerb, depositing Holly's hand back into her lap. "I'll teach you to play."

"Who says I can't already?" Holly asks.

"Me."

"You're right." Holly tells her, grinning. "I don't want to play, but I'll watch. One question though, do you have anything to drink? I think I'm going to need another drink."

"Look in my bag," Gail tells her, turning and smiling at her before focusing on the road.

"Why?"

"Just do it, Holly."

Obedient, she lifts Gail's bag from the floor near her feet and opens it. There, nestled inside is the bottle of red wine, the one she brought to lunch.

"You took it?" Holly gasps.

"So?" Gail shrugs. "She won't miss it. She doesn't deserve it, anyway."

Holly kind of agrees, but she doesn't say anything, because she doesn't want to say anything. It's not her place. But she can't resist asking one burning question.

"I have to ask, why would someone cook quiche for someone who doesn't even like it?"

Gail laughs. It's a bitter laugh, but it's the first of the day, so Holly will take it.

"Holly, you don't think my mother actually made that lunch, do you? Even that salad came ready-made in plastic from the market." She makes a turn out of the street. "My mother doesn't cook. She caters."

Holly just shrugs. She suspected as much, but that's not her point. She rests her head against the headrest, watching the suburban streets float by, feeling slightly queasy. That brandy is a stayer.

"Besides, she couldn't really be expected to know that, anyway." Gail asks. "And why'd you eat it then?"

"No, not me, you idiot." Holly turns to her. "You. That thing was rife with egg."

"Oh." Gail shrugs. "Like she'd remember I hate eggs?"

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Leave a thought in the reviews.**


	8. Chapter 8: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

Gail does not care what all those concerned parents and journalists say: violent video games don't make her violent. They stop her from feeling violent. A couple of solid hours of shooting at anything that moves and Gail is feeling like Gail again. She rests her arms while the game sets to the next level, running her hand through Holly's thick hair.

Holly is lying on the sofa with her head in Gail's lap. She is wearing a pair of Gail's leggings, a hoodie and the pair of fluffy red bed socks Gail's grandmother gave her last Christmas, a change of clothing she had demanded the minute they got back to the apartment from Gail's parents' house. For the last hour or two she has been alternating between watching Gail run riot with a machine gun through the badlands of a fictional city, sipping the beers they found in the fridge (they have decided to save the wine for a special occasion) and thumbing through a book—probably one of Dov's— she has found on a shelf somewhere.

All of this makes Gail happy. Incredibly happy. Sunday lunch, the spectre that has been hanging over her head all week, is all but done. And they seem to have got out of that one scot-free. Okay, well maybe Gail didn't, she thinks. But then she never does. But Holly, Gail smiles down at her frowning reading face, Holly seems unscathed. They haven't really spoken about the lunch at all. Gail isn't sure she wants to.

Her parents didn't really say anything about Holly either. Her mother had plenty of opportunities to slip in her opinion when they were alone after lunch, but for whatever reason, never did. In fact, she didn't say a word. This was a surprise. But Gail knows she is still bound to find out what her mother thinks at some point. From her appraisal of "that rather big-toothed" Pete Ellis in grade six to her "Is he going to run off on you again, though?" query about Nick only a month or two ago, not one single relationship of Gail's has ever gotten past her mother without some comment at least. The fact that her mother hasn't said anything about Holly can only mean one of two things: she has so much to say it has to wait until Holly isn't around, or she really is a little freaked out Gail is seeing a woman and doesn't know how to react. Gail has no idea which it is, but she is certain her mother has not given up having an opinion on every single aspect of her life overnight. She's just making her wait for it.

Whatever this slightly disquieting radio silence over Holly means, Gail is happy that at least for now that they are Elaine-free until the awards night. Family time is over. And now, Gail has video games, she has beer, she has a living room free of her flatmates until they come home from work, and she has this glorious woman in her lap. It's all good.

She gets ready to attempt the next level, lifting the remote and watching the screen intently for enemies.

"So, what exactly are you trying to do, anyway?" Holly asks, turning her head to the side to watch.

"It is all very complex and intellectual, Holly. I am not sure I could explain it so you would understand." Gail tells her, spying some insurgents behind a building and planning her attack.

"Oh, right." Holly picks up her beer and goes back to her book. "My bad."

Half an hour later, just as Gail is about to free the prisoners from the nuclear plant, Holly suddenly sits up.

"Okay, you are done," she announces, pulling the control out of her hand.

"Holly, I was just about to …" Gail growls, trying to grab the remote back.

"Don't care." Holly places the remote at the far end of the table, out of Gail's reach. "I'm hungry. It's dinner time."

"Yeah, if you're a pensioner, maybe," Gail tells her, folding her arms and looking out the window. Okay, so it has actually gotten dark at least, but it can't be more than 6pm.

"Hush. I'm hungry. Find me food." Holly tells her, poking Gail in the ribs.

"Okay, okay," Gail says, reluctantly removing her legs from the coffee table. "But I'm pretty sure I don't have anything."

"Well, let's go see." Holly gets to her feet, grabs Gail by both her hands and drags her up and away from the sofa. Gail trails her into the kitchen and begins foraging through the cupboards for something resembling food. The first thing she finds, of course, is a half-mast bottle of tequila. She whips it out, grabs two shot glasses from the cabinet and turns to Holly, holding up the bottle and smiling her best airhostess smile.

"Really?" Holly shakes her head, laughing. "As long as you are aware that this does not actually constitute dinner."

"I know." Gail tells her, clearing a spot amongst the dirty dishes on the counter and carefully pouring the liquid into the glasses. "But it does make a wonderful pre-dinner cocktail."

"Classy," Holly mutters, taking the glass and squinting at it.

"Shut up and drink your tequila, Holly." Gail tells her, kissing her quickly and downing the shot. She sighs. She loves the quick burn of tequila as it passes her throat. It makes her feel alive and awake. She puts the bottle back on the shelf, feeling the warmth spread through her chest.

Holly drinks her shot and grimaces.

"Now find me some food, please," she begs, putting the glass on the bench and grabbing hold of Gail's back pockets as she turns and opens the food cupboard.

"There's baked beans," Gail says, pulling the lone can from the cupboard and inspecting the label, "… with ham chunks." She screws up her nose.

"If you would like me to throw up, please say ham chunks again." Holly tells her.

Gail smiles, puts the can back and opens the fridge. She finds a bowl of spaghetti wrapped in plastic.

"Some pasta, but no sauce," she announces.

"Boring." Holly sings, leaning on the counter.

In a last ditch attempt before seeking out the take away menus, she opens the freezer. Things look up immediately.

She grabs the thin box from the freezer and holds it aloft, triumphant. "Frozen pepperoni pizza?"

"Yes! " Holly grins, clapping her hands together. "The mother lode!"

"I wouldn't have picked you for the frozen pizza type." Gail tells her, still holding up the box. "I thought you'd be too gourmet."

"I can be surprisingly low rent at times, Gail." Holly tells her, grabbing her by the waist and kissing her neck.

"Thanks," Gail tells her, sarcastic, receiving the intended double meaning loud and clear. She examines the packet. "I think this might be Dov's, which means it's extra-cheap."

"Okay, well, we'll buy him a new one tomorrow. A fancy one to make up for it." Holly replies, leaning her chin on Gail's shoulder as she reads the instructions.

It's all pretty much as expected. Turn on oven. Take off packaging. Wait.

"And this," Gail turns around and grins at Holly. "_This_ I can cook."

She turns back around, leans over and switches on the oven while Holly rips off the packaging and inspects the frozen disc of pizza.

"It is definitely cheap," she tells Gail, frowning. "Look, it's got a bald spot," She points to a small patch near the crust where there is neither sauce nor cheese.

"Oh well," Gail takes it from her and thrusts it into the oven. "It will do."

"You'll do." Holly smiles at her as she turns back around.

"Ha, ha. You want another beer?" Gail asks, opening the fridge.

"Nope, I think I have had plenty to drink."

Gail takes one beer from the shelf and opens it, taking a swig. She puts it on the bench. Holly immediately grabs Gail's beer and takes a sip, smiling at her.

"How long 'til we eat?" she asks, putting back the beer on the counter, thrusting her hands in her pockets and jumping up and down a little on the spot. "I'm hungry."

"Not long." Gail says, shaking her head and grabbing her face with her hands. "I have never seen you drunk. You're very cute."

"Hush. How many minutes?"

"And kind of demanding, too," Gail adds.

"Is that so?" Holly leans into her, pressing her up against the bench top.

"Uh huh," Gail tells her, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"Well, it's good for you." Holly tells her, leaning down and kissing softly on her sternum.

"Oh, why is it good for me, Holly?"

"No reason," Holly says, straying across her collarbone and then her neck in a slow drift of light kisses.

"Because usually I am the demanding one and now it's your turn?" Gail smiles, as she feels the press of lips under her ear, enjoying Holly's current project. "You're such a …"

"I said no such thing," Holly interrupts, suddenly whisking her around so Holly is the one leaning against the bench. She wraps a hand around the back of Gail's neck, smiles her lopsided smile and pulls her into another, more substantial kiss this time. Gail kind of likes bratty Holly. There are definitely worse ways to wait for a pizza to de-freeze. She forgets the slur, focused now on the slow tidal turn from affection to desire in Holly's kiss and instead concentrates on kissing her back, her hands gripping tightly to Holly's hips. Never breaking away, she clumsily unzips the hoodie Holly is wearing, relishing in the slow drift of hands running up the inside her top, coursing all over her back. A moment later she feels the sudden release as her bra comes cheekily undone, followed by the teasing sideways slide of Holly's fingers as they move around to her front, easing up under the cups of her bra, thumbs skimming over her nipples. Gail breathes out hard, and, biting gently at Holly's lower lip, slides her hands into the back of her leggings.

And that's when the front door opens.

Gail pulls away, eyes wide. Holly, however, just smiles and slips out from between Gail and the bench, gently, reassuringly, pinching her waist before she saunters out to the living room, all casual and charming like nothing is going on.

"Hi there!" she hears her say cheerfully as Gail, trapped in the kitchen, desperately tries to reach up behind her and do up the clasp on her bra. But she can't get it. She ducks behind the wall, next to the dining table, out of sight, listening to the sound of Holly chatting with Dov and maybe someone else as she tries frantically again to make the clasps meet. But she simply cannot get it. So instead, desperate, cursing, she does the old locker room manoeuvre, sliding the straps out of the arms of her t-shirt and whisking the bra through her sleeve. She hurriedly stuffs it into her back pocket just as Dov and a guy she recognises but doesn't know from 15 shuffle into the living room.

"Anyway, nice to see you," she hears Holly say. She doesn't come back into the kitchen, though. Gail hears a door close and realises Holly has gone into hiding in her bedroom. She folds her arms folded protectively across her front and hurries through the living area to the hall.

"Hello to you too," she hears Dov call after her.

Just as Gail gets to her bedroom, Holly opens the door and peeks out, grinning at Gail. Leaning against the doorjamb she pulls her close for another deep kiss, her tongue immediately, insistently, teasing at Gail's, her hands working straight back inside her t-shirt. Gail is just about to push the door open and take this thing to the bed when the oven timer goes off, dinging loudly from the kitchen.

"The pizza!" Holly whispers loudly, grinning. "Get the pizza!" She pushes Gail back into the hall.

Shaking her head, Gail retreats back down the hall. Drunk Holly is quite the handful.

She ducks back into the kitchen and pulls open the oven door. She reaches out and grabs a plate from the dish rack. Using her fingers, she slides the hot disc from the oven rack and onto its surface. Just as she stands up, the guy, a tall brunette with a brush cut comes in.

"Hi," he says, reaching for a glass and filling it up at the kitchen sink.

"Hey," she mutters, turning away from him quickly and scampering out of the room.

"We ate your frozen pizza." She quickly tells Dov, who is sprawled on an armchair, and makes a break for the hall. "I'll replace it tomorrow."

"Hey Gail."

"What?" she asks, pausing just inside the living room door and turning her head back.

"Something's hanging out of your pocket." He tells her, his malicious grin telling her he knows exactly what it is, too. His eyes flick down and up again.

She fights the urge to Frisbee the pizza—plate and all— at his head and instead smiles sweetly, holding it at chest height.

"Oh yeah," she tells him. "And we drank your beer too."

"What?"

She turns and bolts for the bedroom.

* * *

**To be continued. Reviews welcomed.**


	9. Chapter 9: Gail and Holly

**Holly**

Morning comes quickly.

It's not a battering ram, but it isn't exactly gentle either. Waking for Holly definitely feels like some sort of assault. The first thing she senses as consciousness hits is the hurt of light on her eyeballs. The second thing she feels is the mild headache already thrumming at her temples. That would be the beer. And the tequila. And the wine. And the brandy. The third thing she feels is the queasiness. That would also be the beer. And the tequila. And the wine. And the brandy.

So, even though she is instantly brutally wide awake, Holly tries her best to stay safe in that shut-eyed zone between waking and sleep where the day can't hurt her.

It is curiosity, however, that gets her in the end. Two pressing questions prevent her from backstroking to the safety of sleep: What the hell time is it— and where is Gail? Without even reaching out to check, she knows Gail is not in bed with her. She can tell. The bed _feels _empty. And given that she has to work this morning, the coupled facts of having no idea how late it is and the light pushing at the edges of her vision is making her nervous. Finally, Holly grits her teeth and musters the courage to face the day and the fact she might be late for work.

She rips the band-aid off quickly, opening her eyes with a pre-emptive cringe. Sadly, the problem is no better solved. All she can see is a pillow— Gail's empty pillow— and the heapings of quilt around her. It seems it's going to take a little more effort to solve the puzzle. Taking a deep breath, she lifts herself onto her elbow and surveys the room. And there is Gail, fully dressed, reclined in a chair under the window, her bare feet kicked up onto the dresser, reading something Holly can't see. The blinds are still drawn. The light she has been shying from is coming from the lamp next to Gail. One question answered.

"Hey," she mutters. "What time is it?"

Gail jumps and looks up. She immediately puts whatever she is reading down, gets up and comes over to the bed. She climbs up onto the mattress and crawls up over Holly, grinning down at her.

"Morning," she says, husky but bright. "Hungry? There's still some delicious, cold frozen pizza left."

"Oh, don't!" Holly lies back against the pillow, putting her hand up over Gail's mouth.

Gail's immediate response is to bite it.

"Ow!" Holly yanks her hand away and pulls the covers over her head. "Don't be mean."

"Feeling a little seedy, Holly?" Gail asks gleefully, lifting the bedspread and joining her under the covers. She curls herself against Holly's back, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Maybe a little," Holly admits, reaching back and looping her arm around Gail.

"Poor Holly," Gail whispers, kissing her behind her ear.

Holly stiffens, remembering the other reason why she had to get up in the first place. "What time is it?" she asks again, lifting her head.

"Don't worry. It's only six."

"Six? What are you doing up?"

She feels Gail's shrug.

"I woke up," Gail says, smoothing Holly's hair out of the way and kissing her neck and then her shoulder. "Besides, you were snoring."

"Was I?" Holly chuckles. "Sorry, but I did warn you of that a long time ago."

"Yes, you did," Gail concedes. "But still, nothing can prepare you for _that_."

"What?" Holly blinks, turning her head toward Gail. "How bad was it?"

"I'm joking," Gail tells her, squeezing her. "It was cute snoring. Dainty even. I just woke up and heard it. Most nights Chris's snoring in the other room is louder than you were in here."

Holly chuckles and then chases it up with a yawn. "What time do you start work?" she asks.

"Not until lunchtime."

"Lucky." Holly sighs, closing her eyes and leaning back into Gail. "I have a meeting at nine. And I have to go home and get changed first."

"I'd offer to loan you something of mine, but I don't want you getting dead people juice on my clothes."

"Gail," Holly moans, screwing up her face. "That is revolting. Besides," she adds. "I don't think your clothes are exactly appropriate for work."

"What do you mean?" Gail hisses. "I don't think I have seen anyone in that morgue- dead _or_ alive- who is in any position to make fashion judgements."

Holly laughs. She is not even going to bother pursuing this one. Gail may be able to muster sass at any time of day, but Holly doesn't have it in her this early, and definitely not today. She slides her arms out from under the covers and stretches them out, turning onto her back. "I don't even want to drive. Operating heavy machinery seems hard," she mumbles from the tail end of a yawn. "Let alone going to work."

"Poor Holly," Gail croons, oozing insincerity. "Are you going to be able to cope?"

"Oh, I am pretty sure I can find a way to manage working with a mild hangover," she says, "It wouldn't be the first time. " She yawns again, turning to face Gail and pressing her face against her shoulder.

Gail kisses the top of her head. "I tell you what— because you so bravely endured lunch at my parent's house, I will drive you to your house, wait for you to get ready, and, then, even though you caused me to be humiliated in front of Dov, of all people last night …"

"Sorry about that," Holly laughs, remembering Gail's tomato red face when she came back into the bedroom with the pizza last night, cursing.

"You will be. But," Gail continues, "As I was saying, if you drag yourself out of bed now, I will take you home and then," she taps Holly on the shoulder, punctuating her offer, "I will take you out to breakfast and buy you a really good coffee to wash down your Tylenol. The Tylenol that I, seasoned hangover veteran, _always_ carries in my purse."

"But you already crafted me that delectable pizza dinner last night. Now breakfast?" Holly grins, kissing her shoulder. "I do believe you're spoiling me."

"Oh, I know, Holly. I know. That's how much I care." Gail sits up, pulling off the bedclothes and handing her a bottle of water. "Now get out of bed. I'm hungry."

* * *

**Holly**

Holly goes straight there from work. She would have rather have gone home and decided what to wear, maybe even had a shower, but by the time she is done with all she absolutely has to do at the lab, it is too late. Now, even though she brought a change of clothes, knowing she mightn't get a chance to get home to get ready, she can't help feeling a little stale and unkempt as she makes her way through the revolving doors into the building.

She find the room and walks in slowly, looking around her but not recognising a single face in the crowds of people standing around in small groups, talking and laughing in their best going-out clothes. It is one of those big characterless rooms that feature in all business hotels and convention centres, with dated décor, bland carpeting, large round tables scattered around the room and a makeshift platform for a stage. On it is a rostrum set in front of an ugly teal curtain, awaiting the presentation of the awards.

"Hey, you." A low voice hisses somewhere behind her. Holly turns, certain it is not for her, but wanting to put a face to the slightly sinister tone.

But she is wrong. It _is_ for her.

"Hi!" It's Traci, laughing and pushing away from the wall where she has been leaning and coming over to Holly. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I'm bored. Hi," she says again, leaning in and kissing Holly on the cheek.

"Hi there," Holly smiles; happy to see someone she sort-of knows.

They return to the wall, out of the way of the crowds slowly gathering behind them, and take up Traci's leaning post.

"Are you on your own?" Holly asks, watching people stream through the door, wafts of perfume and aftershave trailing behind them.

"Sort of." Traci sighs. "Steve's running late. The perils of Guns and Gangs."

"Ah," Holly looks around the room. "And Gail? Have you seen her?"

"I saw her earlier," Traci says, taking a glass of champagne from the tray offered by a young waiter in a slightly stained white shirt. She holds one up for Holly, who nods and takes the glass. Traci takes a sip and grimaces, shaking her head as if to tell Holly not to expect much from it. "She was with her mother. Who I might be avoiding meeting."

Holly chuckles, "I see."

Holly sips her champagne. It is definitely not great, starting off bubbles and ending with vinegar. Her eyes continue to search out Gail. She finally spots her on the other side of the room, standing with her mother and father and a couple of men in uniforms near the platform. She is dressed in a black knee length dress, conservatively cut compared to some of the other numbers she has seen Gail pull out in the time since they've met, with her hair is swept up behind her head. She looks beautiful, but Holly can sense her slight awkwardness, even from the other side of the room as she stands there beside her parents, listening to the conversation moving around her.

"So, rumour has it you scored an invite to the Peck palace," Traci says.

"I did indeed." Holly smiles. "Last Sunday lunch."

"Lucky you." Traci turns to her. "So, what was it like? I heard Elaine Peck is something else."

"That's one way to put it," Holly grins, not able to help herself.

"Great. I am really, _really_ looking forward to getting to know this woman," Traci drawls.

"You should be," Holly tells her with a firm nod and a grin.

Traci is about to ask her something when Steve appears, wrapping an arm around Traci and kissing her on the cheek. He then, still attached to Traci, leans over and kisses Holly's cheek.

"Hello. That was a day." He looks around. "Where can I get a drink?"

"They come to you," Traci tells him.

Holly looks back toward Gail. The group has dissolved, though, and she can't see her anywhere now.

"Oh, cool." He looks at his watch. "We should find a table. Let's get one at the back. Best spot to heckle." He turns to Holly. "Sit with us?"

"Yes please." Holly nods, relieved. She hadn't been sure what she was going to do about seating. She is pretty sure she is not meant to sit with Gail.

"No harassing your sister, Steve." Traci admonishes him as they go in search of a table. "She's probably terrified enough."

"Since when do you stick up for my sister?"

"I don't know." Traci shrugs. "Probably since I realised she has to put up with you."

"Oh, yes, right, right. " Steve tells her, wrapping an arm around her. Holly smiles. She gets why Gail was so pleased about them getting together, now.

Steve finds them a table up the back, near the door. Holly places her jacket over the back of a chair next to Traci and abandons the nasty champagne.

"I am just going to find the bathroom," she tells them, feeling the urge to at least run a brush through her hair. "Be right back. She beats a retreat, leaving them to their affectionate bickering.

She finds the bathrooms in the foyer of the building and pushes the heavy door open. She is immediately confronted with the presence of Elaine Peck, standing at the sink in full uniform, applying lipstick in the mirror. Holly sees the flash of disconcertion that Elaine speedily covers with a smile, via the mirror.

"Oh, hello Holly"

"Hello Elaine," Holly says, forcing friendliness as she considers ducking into a toilet stall to avoid this meeting. Instead, she braves up and digs her hairbrush out from the bottom of her bag.

It is a short silence, but Holly feels it strung out taut in the air between them, a tension felt in the sudden, forced familiarity of the unfamiliar.

Elaine recovers quickly, holding up her lipstick.

"Just freshening up. If I have to wear this uniform," she says, with a slightly forced girlish intimacy. "I am sure as hell not going to be denied my lipstick."

"Absolutely," Holly tells her, going for agreeable.

_She has no idea how to deal with me_, Holly realises, as she sweeps her hair to the side and quickly runs a brush through it. Elaine may have planned a strategy for orchestrating Holly's presence at a Sunday lunch. And she has probably devised a way to manage her presence here, tonight. But Holly can tell this unplanned-for moment in a bathroom has thrown her off ever so slightly.

She puts her brush away and is just about to ask where Gail is, when Elaine answers the question for her. She snaps the lid back onto the lipstick and, checking her watch, calls out, "Are you about ready honey?"

Holly frowns, thinking for a moment that she is talking to her. But then a toilet door opens and Gail appears, smoothing down her dress. When she takes in the scene in the bathroom her eyes widen and begin moving quickly back and forth between her mother and Holly.

Wow, Holly thinks. This really is a recipe for instant panic for Gail. Just add Elaine Peck and stir.

"Come on, sweetheart. It's about to start. You don't want to be late." Elaine tells her, looking at her watch again, more pointedly this time.

Gail holds up her hands, frowning. "I won't be. It can't start without _you_, can it?" she says, going over to the sink and taking a lipstick from her purse, pulling, Holly notices, the exact same face as Elaine did as she applies it. It's almost the same shade of red, too.

"Well, I'm ready," Elaine tells her, turning for the door. "I'll see you out there, pumpkin. You look beautiful." At the last moment she turns and fixes her smile on Holly. "Very nice to see you, dear," she says in that polite, distancing tone she used the first time they met, clearly locating a place for Holly once again in her social order.

Holly just smiles and says as warmly as she can muster, "You too, Elaine," she says to her retreating back.

As soon as the door closes, Gail turns around to look at Holly.

"You do," Holly tells her, nodding, wanting to move away from the presence of Gail's mother as soon as possible. That seems to be the best strategy for dealing with her.

"What?" Gail leans against the counter, still looking a little rattled.

"Look beautiful," Holly tells her, folding her arms.

"Thanks." Gail smiles, but it quickly turns to a sigh. "I had better go. I have to sit with my father and Ollie and some people at the front. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I found Traci and Steve. Steve wants to sit up the back and heckle."

Gail smiles, but says nothing. She pushes away from the counter, her eyes darting around the bathroom, and quickly steps forward, kissing Holly lightly, careful of her lipstick. She pulls back, giving that cute self-conscious smile she gets when she is feeling awkward plus affectionate.

"I'm terrified," she says, as though this is a confession, as though Holly isn't already well aware of her nerves.

"You'll be fine. You don't even have to say anything, do you?" Holly asks.

Gail shakes her head. "No, I just don't like everyone looking at me."

"Then you probably shouldn't go out in public looking as good as this," Holly jokes, squeezing her waist gently.

"Ha, ha," Gail tells her, pulling a face. She is clearly pleased, though.

"It'll be fine. Painless." Holly reassures her, touching her cheek. "Possibly even nice. And then it will be over."

Gail shrugs, dubious.

"You had better go," Holly reminds her.

Gail nods. She takes a deep breath, sets her shoulders and backs away. She starts to push open the door.

"And Gail," Holly calls after her.

"What?" Gail asks shortly, her mind already focussed on what's ahead. Holly hesitates, biting the inside of her lip. Maybe Gail doesn't need to hear it. Then she decides to say it anyway.

"I know from the inside, with what you do every day that this, well, it doesn't seem that big a deal." Holly tells her. "But you should be proud. From here, what you did is kind of amazing. Know that, okay?"

Holly had finally gotten it out of Gail the other day, demanding the story that provoked this award while they were mired in their post-work tiredness on Holly's couch, eating Thai food and trying to follow a reality show neither had ever seen. Holly had seen at once the PR exercise element of Gail and Oliver earning this commendation, but she was also immediately reminded of the routine bravery of the things police— and Gail—do as part of their job. She cannot imagine for a second entering those freezing lake waters to rescue a drowning mother and child. It might be all part of Gail's job, but it is still crazy courageous. And if no one else is going to try and remind Gail of that, she will.

"Seriously," Holly tells her, emphatic, holding her gaze.

It is Gail who breaks it. She looks down, takes in a long breath and blows it out slowly. She lets go of the door, letting it fall closed behind her and steps back into the bathroom. She wraps her hands around Holly's neck, pretending to strangle her. "You," she whispers, smiling, giving her a shake and then a kiss, clearly not caring about her lipstick this time, before turning again and striding out the door.

Holly smiles after her, assuming she can take that as a thank you.

The ceremony isn't too long, and it is more interesting than Holly thought it would be. With each award one of the two uniforms on the stage, either Elaine or a tall man with a shock of white hair, outline what the officers or taskforce did to deserve the award. Holly has to admit, she is kind of impressed with some of the things Toronto police have been doing this year. And, handily, when she doesn't understand the terminology they use, she has Steve and Traci to translate.

When it is finally time for Gail and Oliver to receive their commendation, it is Elaine who introduces them.

"This next award is for first responders Oliver Shaw and Gail Peck- _my daughter_," she throws in, the just-couldn't-help-herself proud Mom. She briefly outlines the rescue and then calls Oliver and Gail up to accept their certificates.

The crowd claps and Steve lets out a loud whistle from their table as Gail and Oliver stand up from their table near the front. Holly straightens her back, craning a little so she can see them make their way up to the platform from where she is sitting. Oliver, dressed in shirt and tie, tucks Gail's hand under his arm. Holly smiles at the way he is playing at the Dad giving away the bride. He leads Gail onto the platform, where they are each handed a framed certificate. Elaine, laying it on thick, makes a show of pulling her phone from her pocket and taking a picture of her daughter with the award right there on stage, as the crowd laughs warmly. Gail obediently plays along, smiling for the camera before scooting offstage with Oliver.

"Right," Steve says, lifting his glass. "To Gail. Now we can move onto the fun part of the evening," he says.

"To Gail," Holly and Traci agree, clinking glasses.

Holly is lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to witness the meeting of Traci and Elaine. She finds them after the ceremony is over, while Gail is taking part in the obligatory photo session with Oliver, and sits down between Traci and Steve, who has moved over to talk to someone he knows, introducing herself. It is all going swimmingly, with everyone on their best behaviour, until Elaine starts asking about Traci's child.

"Gosh, it must be terribly difficult juggling your career as a detective with a small child on your hands," Elaine tells Traci, her eyebrows furrowed as she takes a sip from her flute. "I found it difficult policing in a two-parent family. That sounds like an impossible balancing act," she adds.

Impossible? It's clearly possible, given Traci is _doing_ it, Holly thinks. She takes a sip of her water, pretending to focus on the scene in the room around her. She honestly can't tell if Elaine is being snide or if she is being earnest. Holly hopes it is the former, but she wouldn't put it past Elaine already to be power-playing Traci in some way. Steve is clearly the boy child apple of her eye. It's hard to read her, though. There is an edge of falseness to everything Elaine says, making these things sound questionable, her tone straddling the border between coming off simply genuine but clumsily phrased, or coming off insincere and bitchy.

Traci clearly has an opinion on which side this falls.

"We do fine," Traci says, smiling politely. "I have my mother to help, too. She's _very_ supportive." She pushes back her chair. "I am just going to get another wine. Elaine, would you like something?"

"No thanks, dear." Elaine says, holding up her near-full glass, and turning to Steve, laying a manicured hand on his arm.

Traci turns to Holly, her brown eyes glinting. "Holly? Would you like something?"

"Yes, I'm not sure what I feel like, though, so I'll come with you," Holly says hurriedly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even want another drink," Traci says through gritted teeth as they walk away. "I just had to get away from her."

"It's fine, Traci." Holly tells her, giving her arm a squeeze.

She can't help it, though, although she feels sorry for Traci, she's also secretly glad to have a co-victim of Elaine's ferocious brand of parenting, and therefore, to have a co-conspirator in coping with her.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was real difficult raising those kids and having her career with only the help of a housekeeper and a nanny and a gardener," Traci growls, rolling her eyes.

"I don't think it was quite like that, Trace," Holly tells her, then instantly wonders why she is defending Elaine.

"I _know_, but she's so patronising! What business is it of hers?" Traci shakes her head. "I had to get away from her before I said something … unsavoury." She sighs. "Anyway, what I really do need to do is go to the bathroom. Do you know where they are?"

"Out in the foyer," Holly says absently, scanning the room for Gail. She spies Oliver over in the corner chatting to some uniforms. They must be finished with the photos. "I am going to find Gail and see what is happening next. She must be done by now."

She leaves Traci on her mission to find the toilets and goes in search of Gail, stifling a yawn. Holly is tired.

It takes her a while to find her, but eventually she locates her, sitting with a small boy, perched on the edge of the low platform where the awards were handed out, her dress tucked modestly under her knees. Gail is listening to something the kid is telling her, a look of wry amusement on her face as he gesticulates wildly to illustrate his point. Holly grins at the sight. They look like children relegated to the edges of a formal family event, awaiting their billet to the kid's table.

Holly watches them as the boy continues to talk animatedly and Gail continues to listen, playing with her earring and nodding at him, her eyebrows raised. He could only be about eight-years-old. Holly wonders who he belong to. Her question is answered when Gail is rescued after a minute when a small woman comes over, says a few words to Gail and takes the boy by his hand. Gail stands, accepting an awkward hug from the woman and then the boy, and waves her goodbye.

"Hey," Holly says, walking up to her. "New friends?"

Gail looks up, and smiles at the sight of her.

"My God that kid could talk." she laughs, shaking her head and turning her clutch in her hands.

"An epic tale of eight-year-old boy-dom?"

"Nine next month," she grins, mimicking the kid. "Something like that. Actually, there was a good plot twist at the end, though." Gail tells her. "But not too much character development you know?"

"Ha," Holly grins.

"That was the kid we pulled out of the lake," Gail says, shaking her head at a waiter offering a tray of some sort of dessert.

"Really?"

"Yep. I tell you, he was a lot quieter when he was a drowned rat." Gail smirks. "The PR people invited them, for a photo op for the papers. He is taking swimming lessons now, and wanted to tell me all about it."

Holly nods. "Well, that's good, I guess."

"Yup. Next time he can get himself out of the lake."

Holly laughs. "And I suppose you told him that?"

"Maybe." Gail shrugs.

The room is getting quieter around them as people head home or flock closer to the bar for a last-minute grab at the free drinks.

"So, was that all relatively painless?" Holly asks her.

"It was," Gail nods. "I just held onto Ollie and repeated my mantra as we went up there."

"Which is?"

"_Don't fall over_."

Holly laughs again. "So, what are you doing now?" she asks, kind of hoping Gail is as tired as she is. She knows the plan was to go out, but it is getting late and work is looming.

"Well, I wanted to go to The Penny with you guys," Gail sighs, rolling her eyes. "But now she's all fired up, mother has invited a bunch of the big cheeses for a late supper. And she requires my presence, of course."

"Oh," Holly says, trying not to show her disappointment.

"You could come?" Gail says, doubtful. They both know this is not something anybody who has a choice about it would want to go to. And Elaine has not invited her.

"Ah, I think I actually better go," Holly tells her. "I do have to work early."

Gail nods. "Okay," she says quietly.

Holly looks for any hints of hurt in her voice and her face. It is Gail's night, after all. And if she thought Gail really wanted or needed her to go, she would go. But she seems fine.

"Have a great night, babe." Holly hesitates, then reaches out and briefly squeezes Gail's hand before letting it go. She is well aware that this, of anywhere, is not the place to be openly demonstrative with Gail just yet, but she can't just not touch her at all. It would be weird.

Gail presses her lips together. "I just want to go home with you," she says quietly.

Holly smiles. "That's what I want too," she tells Gail. "But I'll see you soon, okay?"

Gail nods. "Thank you for coming tonight," she says, serious.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Holly tells her, putting her hands in her jacket pockets. "This place has spectacular ambience." She winks at Gail and walks away.

Heading for the door, she realises she had better go and say a polite goodbye to the Pecks. She does a sweep of the room with her eyes. She spots Steve and Elaine over by the small crowd of people clustered by the bar and strides over to them. She is just about to walk up to them, but stops when she hears what Steve is saying.

"Just leave her alone, Mom. Gail's fine. She's happy," he says.

Holly freezes, absolutely certain that this is somehow related to her presence. She quickly turns and walks away, hoping neither of them spotted her approach. It seems Elaine Peck does indeed have an opinion of some sort. Holly knew that for whatever reason she has kept quiet to Gail, it doesn't mean that a woman like her would not have something to say about her formerly heterosexual prize daughter finding herself a girlfriend. Part of Holly would really like to know what she has been saying. Part of her really doesn't.

She is making her break for the door when she spies Traci standing with some people she doesn't know and stops.

"I'll see you later, Traci."

"You're going?" Traci frowns at her. "How come you get to leave? Don't you have to go to this supper thing?"

Holly chuckles, saying quietly, "I guess the lesbian gets a get-out-of-certain-social-events-free card where mothers are concerned. Single mothers, however," she smiles teasingly at Traci, "Do not."

"Not fair." Traci tells her, narrowing her eyes.

"Who had to go to lunch last week?" Holly reminds her.

"True," Traci says, laughing and kissing her on the cheek. "Bye. It was great hanging out. I'm glad you were here."

"Me too. See you soon," Holly tells her as she walks out the doors and into the lobby.

She wouldn't want to be Traci right now either.

** To be continued...**

* * *

**Note: This is an ongoing sequel to a previous story, 'It Has Been … a Day'**

**You can find it here: s/9675430/1/It-Has-Been-a-Day**


	10. Chapter 10: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

Gail cradles the hand inside her own on the small space on the couch between them, noting the stark contrast between her white manicured hand and this small burnished brown hand with its ragged nails. It is a weirdly intimate kind of embrace. It isn't the first time, though, that she has held someone's hand in her line of work, as comfort, or as reassurance in terrifying or tragic moments. This time, however, the strangeness derives from the fact that this handholding has been the extent of their contact thus far.

For what seems like hours now, they have been sitting together on this couch, waiting in this static silent moment, connected but wholly distant. It is one of the nice rooms at the division, usually reserved for victims and families of victims, with its soft furnishings and tasteful paintings on the walls. Somewhere along the line, someone in the last couple of hours has decided that this is where they should be, that what they have on their hands in the form of this silent girl is some sort of victim who deserves this more compassionate space with it soft lamplight, a world removed from the harsh interrogative light of the holding rooms.

Gail isn't expected to do anything with her. It was just an unspoken decision made at some point that she should not be left alone, and that Gail, her finder, should be the one to stay with her while they solve the riddle of her existence. So here they are.

Gail hadn't intended to be holding her hand, either. It was her nails. The raggedy, bloody nail she'd noticed as the girl sat there, a half-meter away, still embedded in the eerie silence that had brought her here, chewing at her fingernails with a quiet ferocity. It had taken Gail a little while to realise the state of them, though, chewed down and slightly bloody in paces where, the nails spent, she has clearly moved to her fingers and cuticles on her fretful attack. Unable to bear the sight of her hurting herself, even in this small nervous habit, Gail had automatically reached up and taken her hand, pulling it gently from her mouth.

"Don't," she'd told her.

She hadn't expected for the girl to respond in that way, to suddenly take hold of her gently admonishing hand, to cling tentatively to Gail's fingers, a signal of something Gail can't read. There is still no eye contact or acknowledgement from her. But, reluctant to disturb or question the first sign of any response, any real engagement since they'd found her, Gail had held on, slowly resting their intertwined hands on the couch between them, letting their embrace exist as whatever harbour it might constitute for this girl who can't be more than seventeen or eighteen, and who seems paralysed by something Gail cannot even guess at. At least this tiny sign of desiring some sort of comfort or rescue has replaced the utter disturbing blankness that had met them when they first came across her.

That was partly why Gail had noticed her in the first place: the absolute stillness.

It is another freezing grey Toronto day, the way they always are at this time of year, that marathon of frosty sameness that is the lead-up to Christmas. They had been sitting in their squad on Houghton, taking a break. Oliver was eating, as usual, and Gail was just sitting and watching the world go by, partly taking in Olly's mouth-full chat about a bet the detectives have going and partly thinking about Holly, who she hasn't seen for three days, an unheard-of stretch for them of late. These days, when the span of separateness lasts for more than a day or two, Gail starts to feel the acute press of missing her like a small lack that follows her around, dogging her, and the only good thing about their lengthy parting is the pleasure of the relief when they do see each other again.

At some point in her reverie, though, she had noticed the girl on the bench at the bus stop across the road, rugged up a thick puffy jacket and a dark blue scarf. She noticed her mainly because she looked just like a girl Gail went to school with, a short friendly kid with the same curly brown hair and narrow shoulders, who'd shared her science book once in senior year when Gail had forgotten hers. She had actually thought it was the same person for a second before she realised the girl sitting over there was far too young to be the same one, that unless she'd stayed there frozen in time since Applied Bio, there was no way it could be her. It was her stillness, however, that kept Gail watching her, compelled by an urge to wait and see if she would move.

While Oliver devoured his lunch and talked his decadent stream-of-consciousness Olly chitchat, Gail watched as the girl sat there, inactive, a white plastic shopping bag between her feet, her hands in her lap, her fingers hooked around the handles of the bag. Four or five buses pulled up in that short time, letting off and taking on passengers. Each time they would take off down the street, leaving the girl there on her bench. She didn't even seem to register their arrival or their departure, but just sat impassive to the shift and flux of people going about their business around her. At first, Gail put the epic case of sluggishness down to tiredness, or maybe a kickass bout of Mondayitis— on a Wednesday. After twenty minutes, though, she began to think only drugs could fuel that kind of sustained public inertia.

She was dragged from her languid observation by a call for them via radio to a robbery scene where a hysterical middle-aged shop owner of a gaudy gift shop mourned the loss of hundreds of dollars of stock and a small amount of cash in her register loudly and long. This was chased by a thoroughly uncharming daytime drunk and disorderly arrest, followed by yet another robbery. _Happy Christmas_, Toronto, Gail thought, as they recorded the loss of more stolen gift ideas, this time from an electronics store.

It is hours later when they happen to be driving back past the spot where they'd eaten lunch. In the busyness of her afternoon Gail had forgotten the girl, but there she was, the very same figure, sitting on the same bench, in the same black jacket, staring down at her lap as the grey afternoon gave way to the early dusk.

"Oliver, stop the car," she'd said quietly.

"What's up, Peck?" he'd asked, obediently pulling over.

"Nothing, really," Gail had answered, staring out the window, wondering if she should bother to inspect, if she's being too nosy, but still compelled to remove her seatbelt in readiness to do so, anyway.

"That girl at the bus stop. She was there when we were here before, and she's still there. I just want to check her. It's been hours. It's just, weird," she explained.

"Okay, Peck," he'd said, turning off the car and pulling the keys from the ignition. "Let's go."

That's what she likes about Oliver, she thought as she climbed out of the car, never taking her eyes from the girl. Although he mostly takes the lead, if you happen to be the one to chase one, or to have a hunch, he'll usually follow. Unlike some of the TOs and senior partners in this place, he is willing to trust other people's instincts too.

They locked the doors of the car and walked slowly over the road. When they got to the bus stop, Oliver had hung back, leaving Gail to approach the girl, probably not wanting to frighten her when she is clearly doing nothing wrong.

"Excuse me," Gail has said, coming to standing next to the girl. "Is everything okay?" she'd asked.

The girl had looked up then, her big brown eyes squinting up at Gail. Her eyes were clear and her skin good, although she looked thin and tired. _Not drugs_, Gail thought, wondering what else could be keeping her paralysed here in the cold and the gathering dark.

The girl didn't respond. She just looked back down at her hands, her shoulders slumping slightly, not acting overtly scared or nervous, or even bothering perform a sort of staged innocent as many do when confronted by the presence of police.

Gail walked around the bench, sitting down next to her, touching her arm. The girl didn't react. Gail tried again, speaking as slowly and kindly as she can.

"Hey, are you lost?"

Still the girl didn't answer, but Gail registered the way she pulled her shopping bag a little further under her and closed her knees around the hands clutching the handles of the bags. That is when Gail noticed the piece of paper in her hands, grasped tightly between her fingers. Not sure what to do, she got up and walked back to Oliver, who was leaning against the bus stop post, watching them.

"She won't say anything, at all." Gail told him, "Something is up, Ollie. And I'm pretty sure she's not on drugs."

"Okay," Oliver had said, putting a hand on her shoulder and coming over to the girl. Gail returned to the other side of the bench, sitting next to her again.

"Sweetheart," Oliver said, leaning down so he is at face-level with the girl, his hand resting on his knees. "Everything okay here?"

The girl still does not answer.

"You've been sitting here a long time. It's a bit cold for it, don't you think? Don't you want to get inside, out of the cold? Back to wherever you're taking that?" he pointed at the bag.

Still, silence.

Gail pointed at the piece of paper in the girl's hands.

"What's this?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. Reaching out cautiously, she touched the note. This provoked a slight, barely perceptible movement from the girl. "Can I take a look?" Gail pulled gently on the piece of paper and the girl let it go, her head turning just slightly toward Gail's as she pulled it out from between her fingers, hoping for a clue.

Gail unwrapped it gently. It was a worn and a dirty grey piece of lined paper, covered in a scrawl of handwriting in a language Gail didn't recognise. She held it up to show Oliver.

"It's not in English." She told him, re-folding the note. "Maybe she doesn't speak any?"

"She could just be lost and not able to ask how to get home, but …" he shook his head at her, clearly not wanting to say anything further in case she did understand. He jerks his head toward the squad car. Gail nodded, agreeing. There was clearly something wrong here. Even if she was just lost, there are plenty of ways to get help that this girl had not taken.

It hadn't been that hard to get her to follow them in the end. Gail had simply taken her gently by the arm and stood up and the girl had compliantly, obediently followed, standing alongside Gail, clasping her bag in her hands. She was probably sick and tired of the cold and of the indecipherable questions, Gail imagined. Or maybe she just had no other option. _Everyone just wants to feel safe_, Gail remembers one of the psych trainers at the police college telling them repeatedly. She also told them, _sometimes this need leads to normal behaviour, like asking for help, but sometimes it leads to behaviour that is harder to understand at first_. They led her across the road slowly. Oliver had even taken the shopping bag, which held a few random groceries from her without protest and carried it. Gail held onto the note, though. They might need it.

And now they are in this interview room sharing her cocoon of silence. Gail is sure her shift is well and truly over, but the mystery that is this girl and the port in a storm she knows her hand has clearly become for her means there is no way she is going anywhere any time soon. She has been the only consistent element of this girl's immediate past and she understands that taking it away might be a small but significant cruelty.

Suddenly the door opens, disturbing the quiet. Gail feels the slightest reverberations of fear in the girl's grasp.

It is Andy, clutching two steaming paper cups. She steps slowly into the room, looking nervous. Gail feels the girl's hand tighten around hers ever so slightly as she takes in this foreign presence. Gail squeezes her hand back softly, hoping it is an unspoken reassurance that while Gail is here, she will be okay.

"I, uh, brought tea." Andy says. As she leans forward, placing the cups on the table, Gail feels the girl lean perceptibly toward her on the sofa, closing the gap between them by a nervous centimetre or two.

"I thought you might want one too. Cream, right?" Andy slides one of the cups in front of Gail without looking at her, a humble offering if there ever was one. She stands up.

"Oliver said to tell you they have figured out the language on the piece of paper. It's Romanian. But they are having trouble finding a translator. It might take a while." She shrugs.

Gail just nods.

"Are you okay in here?" Andy asks hesitantly, looking at their hands entwined on the couch. "I can take over if you need to go home. I know your shift is over."

"I'm fine," Gail mutters, dismissive, not looking at her, just wanting Andy to leave so the girl can relax.

"Uh, okay, well let me know if you need anything." Andy backs away. Gail simply nods, looking over at the girl, who has begun chewing at the fingers of her other hand.

This time, Gail lets her.

**To be continued...**

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**Note: This is an ongoing sequel to a previous story, 'It Has Been … a Day'**

**You can find it here: s/9675430/1/It-Has-Been-a-Day**


	11. Chapter 11: Gail and Holly

**Holly**

"Michael, that is a ridiculous idea." Holly tells him, laughing and taking a pile of bowls to the sink and going back to sit on the sofa next to him.

"Why? She'd love it."

"Michael, honey," Maya leans forward, resting her arms on Holly's coffee table, where she is sitting cross-legged on the floor, and reaching out to pat his hand, a touch patronisingly. "We are trying to think of a surprise Nan would like. Not one _you_ would like."

"Alright, alright," Michael rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, I have got to agree. I don't think public nudity has ever figured in Nan's dream birthday celebrations." Holly adds, sharing out the last of the wine into their glasses. "At least not her own nudity."

Michael is trying to drum up support for another idea when Holly hears the soft knock on the door. Surprised, she stands up.

"Back in a sec," she tells them, going over and opening the door, wondering who it could be.

It is Gail, standing in the hall, a bag on her shoulder.

"Hey," Holly says, her brows furrowing. "Why didn't you use the key? You should have just come in."

Gail shrugs. "I heard voices, and I … I don't know."

She looks tired, standing there in little makeup, her hair tied loosely, blonde strands straying around her face.

"It's Maya and Michael. We're plotting Nan's surprise birthday. She's coming to Toronto." Holly leans against the door, smiling. "It's good to see you."

Gail nods, smiling weakly at her, but she doesn't say anything.

Holly notes the bag she is carrying, her big workbag.

"Are you on your way to work? I thought you were doing a day shift?"

"I was ... I did. I had to work late," Gail says, hoisting it up higher on to her shoulder.

"Busy?"

"You could say that," Gail nods.

"Come in," Holly tells her. "There's food. I made dinner."

Gail shakes her head, looking down and kicking gently at the doorjamb with her boot. "I … can't. Not tonight."

"Are you sure?" Holly asks, frowning, wishing Gail would get over this intense shyness at some point.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you had people over. I should have called first," she mutters.

"You don't have to call," Holly tells her, reaching out and taking her hand. "It's just the twins. I've told you about them. Come in and meet them."

Gail shakes her head. "Another time, if that's okay?"

Holly tries again, squeezing Gail's hand. "They are lovely and they don't bite. I promise."

Gail shakes her head again, staring at the floor. "Uh, I'm not really in the mood for meeting people. I ... just wanted to see you, but I'll talk to you later, or tomorrow or something." She steps away from Holly, smiling, but it is a strained smile at best. She gently pulls her hand away. "I better go."

"Okay then, see you," Holly says, unable to disguise her frustration. Gail is going to have to get over this awkwardness at some point. They can't stay in this limbo forever, where Gail feels socially safe. Holly knows that all it will take is a making the acquaintance of people like Maya and Michael and Gail will probably get over it— and even like them, particularly these two with their shared sardonic senses of humour.

Gail frowns slightly, clearly registering Holly's unhappiness. "I'm really sorry," she whispers. "Bye."

She turns and walks off down the hall. Part of Holly wants to stop her, but she doesn't see the point. Gail is clearly not going to come in and her friends are waiting. So she steps back inside and shuts the door.

Later, when she and the twins have finished crafting their careful and hilariously hatched plans for Nan's birthday and they have departed, she finishes cleaning up and thinks of Gail. She checks the time. It is getting late, but she picks up her phone anyway. Holly hates leaving any kind of tension overnight. She dials her number and goes into her room, lying down on her bed.

"Hey." Gail's voice answers softly.

"Hi, sorry to call so late." Holly tells her, picking at a piece of fluff on her shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Just reading."

"Gail," Holly bites her lip. "Sorry I got a bit … tense before. I know you have that weird shyness, but I really wish you would meet my friends. They are really nice and you'd probably like them if you gave them a chance."

"I know."

"And I've met your friends."

"I know."

"Hell, I have even met your parents," Holly continues, "And you can't even come in for five minutes and meet two very nice and not at all scary people?

"I know, Holly, I'm sorry," Gail says. "It just wasn't the right time, okay?"

"Okay, but …"

"Holly, please," Gail says, a little louder." Can we talk about this later? Tomorrow or something? I can't …"

She doesn't finish her sentence. But she doesn't get off the phone either. And that is when Holly realises something is not okay at Gail's end. She's not angry or defensive. Angry, defensive Gail cuts the moment off. She walks away. This is something else, something Holly cannot read.

"Hey," Holly says, softer. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" Holly pursues it. "You don't sound it."

"It was just a horrible day. I am really sorry about tonight, I just couldn't face anything but you after that shift. But I do want to meet your friends some time. I do."

That's okay, don't worry." Holly tells her. They can deal with that later. "Tell me what happened at work?"

And then, while Holly lies there, listening, Gail tells her the story of a girl they found at a bus stop with no identification or clue where she had come from. The girl who had clung to Gail right through her questioning at the station, right until they had taken her away, a girl who couldn't or wouldn't tell them barely anything about herself or where she has been living or what she has been doing, only that she had gotten lost and couldn't find her way back to the house she was living in. Who with, they do not know.

"She wasn't even sure exactly how old she was, Holly."

"What? How does that happen?" Holy asks, frowning. "An accident. Amnesia?"

"No, they think she was brought here to work and has been kept there. Trafficking." Gail mutters.

"Oh, my God." Holly sighs. She has heard about all the investigations into trafficking in Montreal lately, but she hasn't heard about it here in Toronto.

"I know. She doesn't have any papers. She told us she was from Romania. She knew that. She told us her parent had died and she'd come over here to work a long time ago, and that she had been living in a house with a family. But whenever we tried to ask anything about what has happened since she got here, she couldn't— or wouldn't tell us anything. The people that came in to question her figured she'd been allowed out to shop or something, but had gotten lost." Gail is silent for a minute. "Oh Holly, the poor kid. She can't be more than seventeen or eighteen. She was completely terrified to talk about the house or who she has been living with. I can't even imagine what they have been doing to her."

"Where is she now?"

"They've taken her somewhere, to a shelter, or care. " Gail is quiet for a second, before continuing to talk," When they took her, they had to pull her away from me. She was too scared to let go of my hand. It was horrible, Holly."

Holly can hear the helplessness in Gail's voice. The way she says her name. Gail usually only says her name when she is being a brat.

"The poor child." Holly sighs. "And are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. It was just sad and horrible and I'm tired and I feel kind of stupid and helpless."

"I think this is one of those situations where everyone does, when we are confronted by the awfulness of our world," Holly tells her, thinking how things like this seem so much worse than some of the results of misery that turn up on the slab at the morgue in her work, largely because this kind of misery is still alive and well. Even if this girl has been rescued, she will still live with it. She sighs.

"Oh, Gail, I'm so sorry I got angry with you, when you have been dealing with this. It seems kind of petty now."

"Don't," Gail tells her huskily. "You weren't to know."

"Are you really okay?" Holly sits up. "I'd come over, but I think I probably drank too much wine tonight with dinner to drive safely. Do you want to come here?"

"It's okay." Gail mumbles. "I should try and get to sleep. It's kind of late and they want me to come tomorrow when they try and retrace her trip back to wherever she has been staying."

"That's good," Holly says. "God, it was so lucky you decided to go and speak to her."

"Yeah, I know." Gail is quiet for a minute. Holly just lets her be. Finally she speaks. "I'll see you … tomorrow, maybe?"

"Definitely," Holly says softly. "Get some sleep, okay?"

"I will."

**Holly**

She is on that slow downward drift to sleep when a small sound pulls her back. Suddenly she is alert. She hears another sound and lifts her head. It is coming from the kitchen. She lifts her head, her heart beating a storm.

"Holly?" She hears a small voice from somewhere outside the room. It is Gail's voice. "It's me."

Holly quickly reaches over and switches on her lamp, blinking. Gail is standing in her doorway, dressed in a jacket and sweatpants.

"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't scare you," she says, clutching the doorjamb, looking wan and tired and strung-out. "I … I couldn't sleep."

"Come here." Holly whispers, ignoring her apology and reaching her arm out to her.

Unzipping her jacket and throwing it onto the chair, Gail obediently does as she is told, kicking off her shoes and crawling onto the bed. "You can turn the light off if you want," she whispers.

Holly flicks it off and then reaches over and pulls the covers back. Gail slides into the bed next to her.

"I'm really sorry I woke you," she says again, curling into Holy's side and burrowing her head into her neck.

"Shh. Don't be. It doesn't matter," Holly whispers, smoothing her hair back from her face and wrapping her arms around her, absorbing her into the warmth of the bed. "I'm glad you came. Sleep," she tells her, pulling the covers up over them.

**To be continued ...**

* * *

**This is an ongoing sequel (of sorts) to an older story, It Has Been ... a Day. Check my author's profile to find it.**


	12. Chapter 12:Gail and Holly

**Gail**

The detective running the show, one of the detective who came in and took over the questioning last night at the station, is an incredibly tall, angular woman with a shock of short dark curls and a slight accent Gail can't pick. Ola is deadly serious and talks fast now she is not working with the interpreter. In her tiredness, Gail struggles to keep up as the three of them stand in a quiet spot behind the supermarket where they won't be seen from the street.

Ola starts laying out the plans and Gail focuses carefully, stifling a yawn.

"Okay, so when they arrive, we are going to start at this supermarket where she shopped and hopefully she can lead us back to her house. It was quite a way from the bus stop where you found her, so she must have walked a long time when she got lost. It's also far enough, though, that we are sure no one related would have seen you," she nods at Gail. " So we are going to get you, the translator, Adrian, and one of the social workers, people she knows, to walk with her. Keep her on the inside so no one sees her and when she points out the house, bring her right back here, okay? A couple of us will follow at a distance, just in case."

"Can I ask, why don't we just go in a car where there's no chance we'll be seen?" Gail asks, hoping she isn't asking something stupid.

Ola nods, as if to concede this is a fair question, to Gail's relief

"I need you to go on foot because when we asked about her route she mentioned going through a laneway and a park and we don't know if she could lead us there by road. If we could figure out her route based off what she told us, we wouldn't take her at all, but it is a little confusing because she doesn't know the street names."

"Right," Gail nods, pulling her leather jacket close around her to protect herself against the bitter wind.

"She's frightened, but she's willing to do it. Just keep her calm and focused. Use the translator to talk to her, if you can."

"Okay," Gail nods again.

"How did you find out she shopped here?" Oliver asks, looking at the small supermarket and then back at Ola.

"They found the receipt in her pocket, along with some cash. It matched what was in her shopping bag."

"Ah." Oliver grins, tapping his head. Ola smiles at him, turning her phone over in her hand.

"Here they are." Ola turns toward a car pulling up on the other side of the lot.

They walk over to it. Ola's partner, Rick, and a short woman get out of the front. The back door opens and the translator from yesterday, a chubby guy in glasses, climbs out of one side and goes around to open the other door. From there, the girl gets out. She is in a different outfit to yesterday, so she won't be recognised, Gail supposes. She is wearing a green jacket, her hair covered in a large fluffy white hat. She looks scared, more so than yesterday, but she is also more animated than yesterday, looking around her as she climbs out of the car and stands there, clearly recognising her surroundings. She turns and says something to the translator.

Ola steps over to them and leans down, talking to the girl and turning to the translator to do his bit. Ola turns and points to Gail. The girl looks over at Gail and clearly recognises her, even out of uniform. Gail smiles at her but doesn't say anything. The girl gives her a weak smile back. She looks like a kid when she smiles.

Ola waves Gail over.

"This is Officer Peck." Ola tells them as she approaches. "Just follow her lead, okay?"

The social worker nods, smiling at Gail. The translator nods and repeats the instructions to the girl.

Ola turns to Gail. "Okay, are you ready? For now, walk south down Speith, we know she came from that way, and then get Adrian to prompt her for you, okay? If anything happens, calls us."

Gail nods, then hesitates. "Hang on, what is her name?"

"Anca," the translator tells her.

"Buna, Anca," she tells her, hoping she is saying it right. She looked up the Romanian phrase this morning on her phone, wanting to at least be able to greet her in her own language.

"Buna diminatza," the girl says in a tiny, surprisingly high voice, staring at the ground as she speaks.

"Okay, let's go." Gail tells them.

They walk off around the side of the supermarket and down the street. "Okay," says Gail taking charge. "Can you walk in front of us?" she asks the social worker. She nods and moves up in front of them.

"Adrian, is it?" she continues. The translator nods. "You walk to the left of Anca and I'll stay on this side." Gail moves close to Anca's right, blocking any view of her from the road. She looks down at the girl. She is pale, biting her bottom lip, clearly terrified.

"Adrian," Gail asks quietly as they continue to walk. "Please tell her that all she needs to do is tell us which way to go, to stay on the other side of the road to the house, and when we pass the it, just to tell me. She doesn't have to point or look at it. Tell her we won't stop and we absolutely won't let anyone see her from the house, okay?

"Sure." He talks to Anca. She nods, but she still looks nervous, so Gail reaches out and takes her hand. Anca looks up at her with those scared brown eyes. She looks like she is twelve in that hat, Gail thinks, smiling back down at her but almost wanting to cry for the poor kid. She takes the small, gloved hand and tucks it under her arm reassuringly, walking as casually as she can, as if they are just taking a stroll.

Under Anca's direction they walk around a corner and through a long, skinny park to another side street. There, they cross into a narrow lane and then through to another one. Ola was right, this would have been too hard in a car, Gail thinks.

"Adrian, can you please ask her for me how she got lost yesterday?"

He does and Anca answers, talking in a low voice.

"Someone came up and said something to her in the park." Adrian tells Gail. "They had a dog and she is terrified of them. There are a lot of feral dogs in Bucharest, you know," he says. Gail nods, even though she knows nothing about Bucharest. In fact it is basically the first thing she has ever learned about it, other than as a place on a map, another capital of a country she has never been. Her family certainly never strayed that far east on those European holidays when she was a kid.

"So," Adrian continues, "She ran down a lane, but it was the wrong one and she got panicked and she just never found her way back."

Gail wonders how she learned to get to the shops in the first place. Someone must have shown her the way in the beginning.

They come out the end of the laneway, turning left on Anca's instructions. Halfway down the street she freezes for a second and then just as quickly hurries her pace, saying something to Adrian.

"It's the red brick place across the road. With the blue blinds," He says in a low voice.

Gail sneaks a look at the place as they hurry past, quickly noting the number. It looks like a perfectly innocent inner suburban home. But then they all do, Gail thinks. Glad that no one is outside, or even possibly home, given the empty driveway, she hurries them on and they turn back in the direction they came along the next street.

"Please tell her thank you for being so brave," Gail says as they march back along the freezing street to the supermarket.

Adrian does as he is told and Gail's squeezes Anca's hand. Anca's only response is to squeeze it back.

When they get back to the car park, they put Anca straight back in the car and Rick pulls straight back out of the parking lot. Ollie hands Gail a coffee as she watches the car drive away.

"Thought you might want something hot after that wintry stroll," he tells her.

"Thanks," she smiles at him, clutching its warmth and wishing he were always her police partner. She often finds herself thinking that lately.

"So, what happens now? Do we go in and arrest them?" she asks Ola, who is leaning on the back of the unmarked car they drove here in.

"No. Not yet. We know enough to make an arrest, but don't have a very clear picture of exactly what went on. We may never get the full picture." Ola shakes her head. "That poor kid. But we want to find out more from her if we can, particularly how she got here and who, if anyone from the house brought her or has her papers." She takes a sip of her coffee. "They are taking her back to the shelter, now, to give her a break. And then we'll talk to her again in a couple of days. We find its best to take our time with these cases. Once we know more, we can then figure out whether it is best to see where these people who have held her lead us first. They probably got her through some sort of organised channel. There's bound to be somewhere higher up we can get to, if we play it right."

"Who's running the show for now?" Ollie asks.

"Me and Rick, basically," she shrugs. "Until they organise an investigative unit at least."

"They're putting together a unit?" Gail asks, biting at the lid of her coffee. "Out of 15?"

"Possibly. It depends on if it connects to anything else we've been investigating. It might go to Organised Crimes or, once we determine her age, us at Child Exploitation. She shrugs. "Or if its local, it's more likely we might set up something at 15."

Gail nods.

"Anyway, I'd better move," Ola says, sighing. "I have to go back to my office and clean up some other cases so we can move on this. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks, Peck. You were great. It wasn't ideal to bring her here, but you kept her calm."

Gail nods, pleased but not letting on. "See you later."

Gail hurries into the comparative warmth of their car.

"Nice one, Peck. You did good." Ollie tells her, climbing into the driver's seat. "By the way, the good news is that Frank said you could take the afternoon off, because you worked so late last night."

"And the bad news?"

"Ah, I think we've had enough, don't you?"

Gail nods. "That poor kid." She turns to Oliver. "You know she only got away because she was running away from a dog? She's scared of dogs. She's _lucky_ she's scared of dogs," she adds, turning back to stare out the window. "She has been walking to that supermarket for however long she has been here, and all it took was this one small thing. It's crazy." She shakes her head.

Oliver nods, saying nothing, focused on the road.

"If they do set up an investigation here, I want to be on it, Ollie," she says him.

"You should be," he tells her.

"Not because I want to advance my career or anything. That's not why. It's because I want to …" She is not sure what she wants to say.

He taps a hand on the steering wheel. "I know, Peck. I mean it. Remember what I told you, a while back, that you have no patience or pity for us regular folk? But for the victims, the mistreated, the sad and the sorry, you have all the time in the world?" He turns and smiles at her. "Well, this is it, Peck. This is the perfect job for you. Get on that case. I mean it. I'll do what I can to help."

Gail nods. "Thank you," she says quietly.

"No problem. But you owe me a beer."

"And Oliver?" She turns to him.

"Yup?"

"I have pity for _you_."

"Oh, nice one, Peck. Nice one. Tss."

She grins, resting her head against the seat and watching the streetscape slide around them.

As fatherly as he can be, Oliver has never been one to give her advice, aside from the little nuggets of Oliver knowhow, like 'never eat the green ones', or 'don't get a tattoo where the judge can see it'. Probably because she mostly acts like she doesn't need advice. So if Ollie, the training officer she would never admit that she looks up to most in this world tells her she should do it, and that she _can _it, then Gail is going to do it.

* * *

**Gail**

They leave the restaurant, stepping out onto the quiet street together. It is a cold and windless night, and the last snowfall has disappeared.

"So, did you like it?" Holly asks her as they set off down the footpath.

"Like it?" Gail says, feeling the leaden weight of the best Korean food she has ever eaten. "It was ridiculous. Did you see how much I ate?" She rubs her stomach. "I'm going to have to tell my brother about this place. He'll love it."

"We should take him and Traci there one night."

Yeah," Gail says, gazing up at the sky. It is actually clear tonight. She can even make out a few scattered pinpricks of stars.

"Still got an unholy fear of double dating?" Holly asks, nudging her with her shoulder.

"Nah, I'm over it," Gail tells her, tucking her arms through Holly's and stepping in close to her side. She knows Holly wanted to do that, but didn't. She has taken to letting Gail call the shots about physical contact when they are in public. Gail knows it is because she was all funny at first. Now, sometimes, she regrets having been like that, and having made Holly so careful with her.

She sighs, sated. The restaurant was how Gail likes them: great food but without much stock set in its no frills decor. Gail loves how Holly likes the same kinds of places she does, where it is more about the food than the setting. And if they are going for atmosphere, she too will take interesting or strange over hipster ambience any time. But really, most of the pleasure of the night is coming from just hanging out with Holly. The last time they really saw each other was the awards night, but they'd barely had a moment together. And last night, after finding Anca, when Gail came to Holly's so late, they had barely spoken to each other, just sleeping. Even Gail, exhausted, had slept right up until the alarm rang, and they both had to rush to work in the morning.

Tonight, it has been nice just to catch up, to hang out and find some normalcy. Gail used to fear normal, but now she likes it when it's like this. So tonight they ate hotpots and drank rice wine and Holly told Gail about her two newest interns, and the plans she has made for her best friend's birthday. Gail told Holly about the morning, catching her up with the story of Anca.

"You won't tell anyone any of this, will you?" Gail asked her over their second dish.

"Of course not," Holly had said, frowning. "And you never have to ask me that again, either."

"Okay, I'm sorry." Gail had said.

They cross at the lights, passing a park with a huge lit-up Christmas tree in the middle.

"I suppose it is kind of pretty," Gail admits, although Holly didn't even ask, as she watches the lights flash on and off.

"So Gail, what do you want for Christmas?"

"For my great aunt not to get too drunk. For my mother to say nothing about my outfit, and for Steve to remember to buy our cousins presents himself and not to just sign my card when we get there."

Holly chuckles. "Not quite what I meant."

"Well, it's what I want. Make it happen, Holly."

"Okay," Holly tells her. "But only if you can make sure my aunt and uncle limit themselves to only ten questions about my life an hour and that my father never, ever … ," she squeezes Gail's arm, "sings."

"I'll do my best," Gail nods, as if it is as good as done on her whim.

They walk in silence for a while, turning down toward Holly's house, where they left their cars.

"So, do you want to stay at mine?" Holly asks her.

"It depends," Gail says, biting her lip. She still feels a little bad about waking Holly last night, even though she had reassured her again this morning that it was fine. "Do I stay too much?"

"Gail," Holly says quietly, yanking on her arm. "You don't stay enough."

"Well that's okay then," Gail smiles to herself. "Besides, got to leave you wanting more," she adds.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhm," she nods, changing the subject. "You're going to Montreal for Christmas?"

Holly nods. "I am."

"How long will you be there?"

"Until early January. It's Dad's birthday is just after New Year, so I want to stay for that."

"Didn't your mom just have her birthday?"

"Well, yeah, Gail, but my parents get one each." Holly smiles at her.

"I know that, Holly" Gail sasses. "But you won't be around for New Year's? Who am I going to make out with at midnight?" She turns to her and pouts.

"Poor you. You'll find someone." Holly grins.

"I just might, you know, Holly."

"You could come to Montreal," Holly says, dropping Gail's arm and fishing her keys out of her bag.

"I could," Gail says slowly, "But my family have this party every year. It's kind of a family tradition. The only way to get out of it is if you are on shift."

"You guys have a lot of traditions, you know."

"I know." Gail rolls her eyes. Holly hasn't even heard about the ones up at the cottage. Luckily, Gail can get out of those ones these days because of work. Her Mom and Dad might be able to take leave, but Gail is way to far down the pecking order to claim for leave in summer, even if she wanted to. Besides, by the time Christmas and New Year's has passed, Gail has usually had plenty of parent time.

Holly stops at the door to her flat and turns, giving Gail a look. "Wait. So … you were thinking we'd be making out at your family's New Year's party?"

"God no, Holly," she tells her, laughing; grabbing her hands and climbing up on the same step to kiss away that look of total consternation. "I only have to go to the party for a couple of hours. We'd be making out on a dance floor somewhere, I hope. Peck party strictly optional— for you."

"That sounds much better," Holly tells her, pushing open the door. "Now I am actually disappointed I won't be here, instead of fake disappointed."

**To be continued...**

**Your reviews are appreciated.**


	13. Chapter 13: gail and Holly

**Gail**

She puts the cup on the bedside table, kneels on the soft mattress, and watches the hand as it reaches out from the covers to quiet the noisy phone. Finally, the exaggerated beeping that Gail could hear assaulting the morning from the kitchen is silenced.

"Hey," Gail whispers to the moving lump beneath the covers.

Holly's head emerges from under the covers. She blinks several times, turning her head away from the light.

"How do you always manage to do that?" she mumbles, throwing her hand over her face.

"What?" Gail asks, even though she is pretty sure that she knows exactly what Holly is referring to.

Holly rubs her eyes slowly and eventually turns back to her. "I am seriously beginning to think you don't sleep at all. That you're some kind of vampire cop." She yawns, stretching her arms over her head until they are pressed against the wall behind her. She turns and looks at Gail with that quizzical, half-amused look she always seems to be looking at Gail with.

Gail just shrugs at her. She can't help it if she wakes up early.

"Let me guess," Holly says, smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You have a question?"

Gail crosses her legs on top of the covers and sits up. "Maybe," she says, aloof. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you _always_ have a question in the morning. Too much thinking time on your hands" Holly reaches out and curls her hand around Gail's, still smiling. "So tell me, what's it going to be? Do I need caffeine first for this one, or is it easy? Maybe something weather-related?" she adds, clearly hopeful.

Gail laughs, picking up Holly's hand and rubbing the smooth, almost olive, skin with her thumb. How is it that Holly already seems to know her— and her tics— better than most of her friends and family do? She kisses the hand and drops it, turning toward the bedside stand.

"Guess what?" She reaches back behind her and takes the steaming cup from the small table, turning back and holding it up in Holly's direction. "I already provided caffeine. Well … tea." She shrugs. "I'm too scared to use your coffee machine. It doesn't like me."

"It likes you plenty," Holly scoffs, pulling herself out up in the bed and sitting back against the wall. She takes the tea carefully and sips it. "Mm, and I definitely like you lots, now." She smiles at Gail. "Okay, I am ready for question time."

Gail puts her own cup of tea down on the bedside table, crawls across the bed and climbs over Holly so she is sitting straddled over her legs, facing her. She pulls a tangled lock of Holly's long brown hair and drops it behind her shoulder, smiling at her. Gail likes morning Holly best. She likes it when she is all sleep-eyed and dazed and, frankly, still beautiful. Holly always seems to be so together, and it kind of makes Gail feel better to be reminded frequently that she is not always completely self-possessed and on top of everything. Gail certainly never is.

But it is not just that. Gail knows it is also the fact that this particular Holly is all hers— that only she has access to this messy-haired, drowsy, slightly behind-the-eight-ball version of Holly, the version that Gail secretly thinks is Holly at her most adorable, but will never tell her because its gross and cutesy. And at this time of day, in these private moments she gets to feel a delicious sense of possession, a priveleged claim over her. At other times, Holly's social generosity means she is always to be shared, always dividing her attention among many because she wants to know everyone, because she seems to feels so at ease among people. Not that Gail minds- she is the first to admit she is envious of this quality- but she still likes these moments best, in the early morning, when Holly is still all hers. And she still cannot fathom how, even just after the small parting of sleep, how this woman just continues, inexorably, to _happen_ to her all over again.

"So, what have you got for me, Peck?" Holly asks again, placing her teacup on the bedside stand.

Gail rests her hands on Holly's shoulders, firing her latest early morning musing at her.

"What if I hadn't kissed you that day in the interview room?"

Holly exhales in a kind of half-laugh and rests her head back against the wall. "Right, so, definitely not the weather then?"

"Nope." Gail shakes her head, smiling.

"So what do you mean, if you never kissed me?"

Gail shrugs. "Just that. What would have happened if I'd been all like, 'Never mind, Holly, stop stressing out, I'll see you later,' instead of kissing you." She shrugs again, looking down at the small stretch of covers between them. "What would have happened then?"

"I have no idea." Holly shakes her head. "I guess I would have gone back to work. And still worried about you." She adds.

"And that's it?" Gail feels her shoulders drop.

"Gail," Holly places her hands on Gail's thighs and gives them a squeeze. "Is what you are really asking, is, if it hadn't happened then, whether we would have still gotten together?"

"I guess," Gail shrugs. "I mean, if that crazy day hadn't happened, I don't know if I would have been …"

"Brave enough to jump me?" Holly laughs.

Gail smiles, feeling suddenly shy. "Maybe," she mutters, taking her hands from Holly's shoulders and folding them in her own lap. "Who knows? You might be dating that woman from the Penny that night. And I might still be going on terrible blind dates my mother organised," She tries to laugh, to make it more light-hearted than she is actually feeling.

"Hey," Holly says, reaching over and untangling Gail's hands from the knot she has made of them, and then slipping her own fingers through Gail's. Gail looks at her, biting her bottom lip. Holly smiles, squeezing her hands.

"You don't think that this was kind of inescapable?" she asks. "That it would have happened, eventually?"

"I guess," Gail mumbles. Of course she does. And that is what she was hoping to hear from Holly— what she thinks she already knows, but for some reason, today, really needs to hear.

"The fact that I wasn't interested in that woman that night at the Penny was part of the reason why I knew that something was standing in the way of my being open to meeting someone like her, someone who was really quite great- and very attractive I might add."

Gail frowns, remembering the woman. She _was_ pretty cute. "Shut up, Holly."

Holly laughs. "Anyway, I was pretty much slowly figuring out that you were the thing standing in the way at that point."

"So, if I had never done anything, you would have made a move on me?"

"I guess, eventually." Holly turns her hand over, palm up, and kisses it. "I don't think I would have been able to help myself." She shrugs. "Maybe not that day. And I don't know _how_ it would have happened, but it would have." She says, nodding. "This feels … inevitable, don't you think?"

Gail looks down at the mesh of their hands, smiling.

"Who knows, maybe you still might have kissed _me_, at some point." Holly adds.

"I don't know," Gail shrugs. "I have no idea what I will do, pretty much _ever_, but … I think it … this … was inevitable, too. I do." She nods.

"Good," Holly smiles and pulls her forward by her hands until she is close enough for them to kiss. "Then we're on the same page." She kisses her again and sits back against the wall looking at her.

"You're okay, aren't you?" Holly asks her. "This is just a bit of the old Gail 'give us this day our daily reassurance' stuff, right?"

Gail just stares at her, nodding. She's over that. She's now quietly revelling in the delicious knowledge that she has this extraordinary woman: this woman with her goodness and her insight, a woman with that particular brand of kook that soothes Gail's very own streak of crazy, a woman with an ability to _get_ Gail in ways that no one else seems to. And the fact that this woman sees the two of them together as being just as much an immutable fact of their now-coupled existence as she does, makes her happier than she would ever, ever, admit. It is, however, because of this, though, that she will never stop being as terrified as she is thrilled by the ineluctable nature of her feelings for Holly. This fear is the reason she feels constantly compelled to ask these questions.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Gail finally mutters in response, climbing off her and lying down next to her above the covers.

She lies there for a while, feeling the slow stroke of fingers through her hair as she rests her cheek against Holly's hip. Then she takes a deep breath and decides to brave up.

"But also, just, " she mumbles, flinching slightly as she tucks her face against the covers. "I am really, really into you. Like, _really, _kind of embarrassingly into you. So …" She slaps Holly on her leg. " … don't mess it up, okay?"

"Gail," Holly laughs, scooting down the bed and turning to face her. She presses her palm against Gail's cheek, smiling. "I had and _have_ absolutely no intention of messing it up, you mad woman."

"Good." Gail smiles at her. "Because I'm amazing." She leans forward and presses a kiss against Holly's lips. "And so are you," she shrugs, "I _guess_."

**To be continued...**

* * *

Author's note: Happy New Year! I hope you all survived the party intact. Thanks so much for you reviews so far. There will be another chapter of Gail being brave to follow tomorrow.

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	14. Chapter 14: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

They are 'doing' lunch.

This is something her mother likes to do every now and then, especially when she wants to play a bit of Mother of the Year. Ensnared by an adamant, no-one-here-gets-out-alive phone call, where Elaine claimed to have checked her schedule to ensure she would be free, Gail had no choice to accept her mother's invitation.

One moment was happily immersed in the tender mood brought on by her morning conversation with Holly, still at her apartment long after Holly left for work, dividing her time evenly between tracts of daydreaming and reading the report she wants to finish before work tomorrow, and the next she was dragged mentally kicking and screaming into reality by Elaine Peck.

Now here they are, eating lunch in one of those business-y but not too upscale modern restaurants that Elaine loves and Gail despises, eating ladylike meals of seafood and salad and discussing the latest gossip up and down the ranks. As they talk shop, Gail doesn't mention the investigation and Anca to her mother although she has probably heard something of it already. She doesn't want her mother near it. Because if Elaine finds out she has any aspirations, she'll start pushing things at her end, and Gail wants to get this one on her own.

Elaine is on her best behaviour this afternoon, too, which makes Gail nervous. She hasn't commented on Gail's clothes, her hair or even the way she eats once during the entire meal. This is not normal. Gail braces herself for the worst, but it doesn't come. By the time dessert rolls around, and Gail is drinking coffee and watching her mother pick at a piece of pear tart, she has started to relax.

And that is, of course, when it happens.

Putting her fork down and patting her stomach, Elaine sits back. "Ugh, I am going to regret that later," she moans, like she always does when she eats something she thinks shouldn't. She picks up her tea, sipping, looking over at Gail with a one of her benevolent, pre-lecture looks. Gail recognises it instantly.

"Honey, remember that therapist you saw, after all that dreadfulness with the kidnapping?"

"Yeah," Gail narrows her eyes. _Where in hell is this going?_

"You liked her, didn't you?"

"Uh, as much as anyone can like a therapist." Gail mutters, sipping her coffee.

"Well, sweetheart," Elaine leans forward, over the table. "I was thinking you might want to think about going and checking in with her again.

"What?" Gail puts her cup down. "_Why_, exactly?" Of course, she knows exactly why. She sighs. "Is this because of Holly?"

"Well sweetheart …"

But then she doesn't even let her mother finish. Fighting the bitter combination of humiliation and anger, she smiles grimly at her mother, trying for sarcasm. "You know, it's been half a century or so since they thought of this as a psychiatric problem. I learned that in _high school_, Mom."

"Oh sweetheart," Elaine places her napkin on the table and soothes it flat with her fingers as she speaks. "I am not saying there is anything wrong with you, or it." She pauses. "It is just a very … abrupt change. And erratic behaviour can be a sign of depression, or problems, especially after all you have been through in the last year."

Gail shakes her head, slowly expelling a weary breath. When the inevitable reaction finally came, she'd expected angry Elaine, or perhaps even shocked Elaine, but certainly not concerned Elaine, to show up for this particular coming-out party.

"All I have been through?" she repeats, frowning and fiddling with the ring on her finger, her hands pressed against her lap. "All of a sudden you want to be concerned about all I have 'been through'?" she looks up, lifting her hands only long enough to hang air quotes around the phrase. "You know, Mom, the other day we helped a girl who has been taken from her country, basically locked in a house for years, forced to be a domestic slave. _She_ has _been through_ something. She needs therapy. The couple who kept her, who made her to work for them, who beat her if she got sick, but refused to take her to a doctor, those_ psychos_ need therapy."

"Gail, there's no need to be dramatic about it." Elaine says, her voice tightening. She looks a touch nervous now, as she refolds the napkin she just flattened into a tight knot, as if maybe she didn't expect Gail to fight back, like she's dived into something she hadn't completely thought through. "I just want to..."

"Mom," Gail sighs, interrupting. "You didn't even think I needed therapy after the kidnapping. You said I would just get over it, like all cops do. You certainly didn't think I needed one when Nick dumped me and started dating my friend. Why now?"

"Like I said, darling." Elaine quickly regains her composure, back on familiar ground. Gail can tell by the way she sits up straighter, setting her shoulders and placing the napkin neatly on her plate. There is nothing like a 'bad parent' accusation to make her mother rally. She doesn't like to be bad at anything. "But this _is_ a very sudden change. I mean," Elaine adds in a low tone, "Turning around and announcing you are _gay_. At your age?" she shakes her head and takes a sip of her tea before launching into an additional defence. "And I am worried that you don't even seem to have found any direction at work." She waves away an approaching waiter, not even making eye contact. "You seem a little lost."

"Do I?"

Gail can't help smiling at that one. It's funny, because she hasn't felt this un-lost in a long time. And for the first time in a long time Gail knows exactly what she wants. She wants two things. She wants to work on this investigation and help arrest these people. And she wants to be with Holly. But her mother doesn't know either of those things.

But she could know if she just asked, instead of telling all the time.

But this is just another example of her mother being eternally in her face but never really seeing her. This is always what is so confounding about her mother. She has an ability to say these kinds of things, to loudly and adamantly register her pushily maternal concerns, but the concern never really seems to be for what Gail wants or needs. It is for an idea of what Elaine thinks should be happening, what Gail _should_ be doing or feeling or being. Sometimes it feels like this act of mothering has no real connection with Gail herself.

She pushes her coffee away and sits back in her seat. And another thing she wants? Gail wants not to have to discuss this with her mother any more. Not today. Not this day that started tasting of potential and is now falling to ruins in one swift lunch. She refuses to surrender this time to the king tide pull of her mother's aggressive maternal ministrations.

Taking the thin thread of calm left of her mood from this morning, and the bravery that her mother's uncertainty has given her, she tries to weaves it into something bigger, a protective veil of serenity between her and the anger that is so easy to succumb to when her mother talks like this. She leans forward, her hands in her lap, speaking as slowly and calmly as possible. "First, Mom, I have never said I was gay. But yes," she smiles at Elaine, "I am dating a woman. Please live with it."

"But Gail, you must barely know her." Elaine sounds plaintive now, using her actual name instead of an endearment. "How do you know it is right for you? You haven't exactly been careful with your choices thus far. I mean, Nick …"

Gail interrupts her. "Mom, you're not listening. Please listen." She lifts her arms and places her hands down flat on the table, looking her mother square in the eye, telling herself to remain calm, to give away as little as possible and all the while marvelling at her own self-possession. "I am not asking you what you think of my relationship with Holly. I don't care if you think she is right for me or not. I _know_ she is. In the past I might have wanted your opinion, but right now, I don't." She leans forward over her hands. "What I want is for you to be okay with her, so we can move on and you can get used to it. Because you can't change this one. You can't _touch_ this."

Elaine opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Gail continues, "Second, I haven't decided what I want to do yet at work because I don't _know_ what I want to do yet. And I was raised, "she adds pointedly, "To be certain about my choices. And if you could just give me some headspace to think about what I want to do, maybe I could do that."

"But honey," her mother says, beginning to sound plaintive, "Time is ticking on the work front. Even Holly told me you hadn't been making any decisions about that lately. I just want to help."

"Mom," Gail says slowly, taking a deep breath. How does her mother find the energy for all this relentlessness? "All I need you to do for me right now is to back off, okay?" She turns and waves the waiter back, making a sign for him to bring over the bill.

Lunch over.

* * *

**Holly**

"She tried to tell me, _get this_, that I should go and see a therapist."

"What?" Holly drops her scalpel onto the bench and walks over to her desk, sitting down and blinking into space. "She _did not_." Of course she did.

"She thinks I am lost," Gail tells her laughing. "Because I am dating you and because I have no direction at work. She even tried to tell me that _you_ told her I had no direction at work."

"I told her no such thing!" Holly growls. "She tried to interrogate me about your career plans at that lunch. I told her we didn't talk about that stuff. Even if we did, I'd never tell her anything, let alone sell you out to her, Gail. Know that."

"I know, Holly. It's okay."

"Well good," Holly grumbles. "I don't want her getting you drinking the Kool-aid about anything to do with me."

"Never."

"So, what did you say to her?" Holly leans back in her chair, swinging it from side to side. Right now she'd love to kill Elaine Peck.

"I told her to back the hell off and let me make up my own mind."

"Good. I'm glad." Holly smiles. Gail sounds pretty darn pleased with herself. And so she should be.

Holly is pleased, too. More so, she is relieved to know that Gail _can_ defend herself when she wants. After seeing the way she had reacted to her mother's taunts at that lunch, she couldn't help but be a little bit worried. Gail seems to lose all her moxie around that woman. And it is her feistiness that makes her so gorgeously Gail.

Gail sighs loudly into the phone. "Holly, can't I just disown her?"

"No. You know that." Holly smiles picking up a pen and scribbling on the notebook on her desk.

"Are you sure? I could be an orphan? I'd make a great orphan."

Holly laughs. "No you wouldn't. You'd miss your Dad, anyway."

"Yeah, I would," Gail concedes.

Holly hesitates, biting her lip, considering the consequences of speaking, before ploughing in. "I haven't been wanting to, you know, interfere, but can I say something?"

"Say away," Gail tells her.

"Your mother is not like any other mother I have met. For some reason she seems to really want to undermine you. It's not normal._ But_," she says hurriedly, "At the same time, she seems to really fiercely love you. Don't doubt that part, Gail."

"Hmm," is all Gail says.

Holly continues, not able to stop now she's started. "I don't think she is going to change her behaviour. If you keep telling her to back off, and she really hears you, she might try, but she's never going to stop being the kind of woman she is, which is …" Holly searches for the nicest way to say it, "Kind of controlling. People don't change. But she's also clearly brilliant and driven and I'm sure there are other great things about her. I don't really know her. But you'll probably have to learn to … manage her, like you did today. Just… just don't give her any power. She has too much. But she hasn't earned it, Gail, not the way she treats you."

Holly knows she is kind of rambling, but she doesn't stop. She wants to get it out while it seems like an appropriate moment. Besides, saying all this is less about how she feels about Elaine, and more about how she feels about Gail, so she feels she has the right to say it.

"See, if my mother ever wanted to criticise me, or tell me I am doing something wrong, unless I was being a brat, she said it kindly and she didn't say it in public. Then, my mother always worked by the old adage, if you can't say anything nice, or at least constructive, don't say anything at all."

"My mother clearly didn't get that particular memo."

"Which is why I want you to meet my mother one day," Holly tells her.

"Education by comparison, huh?" Gail laughs.

Holly is surprised now to find how much she now wants Gail to meet her mother. She wasn't sure before how Gail would go over with her mother. Her Dad, she knows, would probably dig Gail. He likes feisty. He finds it entertaining.

But now she just wants Gail to see a normal mother. She wants her to see what a relationship that is based on affection— without all that power play — looks like. She thinks Gail might like it.

One day. One day, she'll take her there.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's note: Thanks so much for you reviews so far. I'll try and update a bit quicker with the next chapter.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	15. Chapter 15: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

"Watcha reading?"

Gail quickly shuts the report, folds it over in her hands so he can't see the title, and sits back in her chair.

"Do I really have to say it, Chris?" she tells him, giving him her best snarl-thinly-disguised-as-smile.

"That it's none of my business?" Chris parks himself in the desk chair next to Gail, placing his big hands on the worn rubber arms and shunting himself closer to the desk with his feet. He shakes his head. "No, probably not."

"So, as much as I'd love to chat," she slaps him on the arm with the report. "I'd also love to not chat. So, are you here to relieve me or what?"

"Yes, Gail," He leans forward over the desk, grabbing a pen and a notepad and shaking his head. "I'm here to take over."

Gail scoots back in her chair, her arms raised in a silent cheer, before beating a speedy retreat from the front desk where she has been parked all day.

Doing the front desk is so frustrating when there are things going on at the Division that you want to know about. You are right within sniffing distance of the action, but you can't go chasing it because you are not— Frank's number one rule style not— allowed to leave the desk unattended. Even worse, you are chained to the one place in the station where the public have access. And the kind of public that come into the station through the front door always seem to be the kind that are in no hurry to leave. Needless to say, Gail is glad to be out of there.

She strides down the long hall, rolling the report up in her hands and glancing into every room and office along the way, not sure where they will be now. She saw them earlier, in the morning, taking Anca back into the interview room. Gail was leaning against the counter, biting down a yawn and waiting for a guy to fill out a form regarding his stolen Iphone (good luck getting that one back, Gail had thought but knows she is allowed to say), when she saw them usher the girl through the large open plan office. Anca had also spotted her through the huge plate glass windows and given her a small wave and smile, which Gail returned. Seeing her more relaxed made Gail a bittersweet combination of happy and sad for her. Gail is happy because she clearly feels so much happier and safer. But sad, too, because this is the way someone Anca's age should have felt all along. Gail thinks of all the things that scared her at seventeen; failing classes, being dumped, being humiliated, her parents getting hurt at work, driving in the rain. Most of them were irrational fears because she was good at school and popular enough not to have to live in fear of humiliation. But even those that weren't, like worrying about her parents, seem insignificant now compared to just the small amount of information she has found out about Anca's life so far- and the things she has had to fear.

Somewhere near the end of the passage she finally spots Ola through the door of one of the back offices, hauling some folders out of a box and smiling at someone she can't see. It isn't until she gets closer that Gail sees Andy, perched on an empty desk, kicking her boots against the closed drawers and saying something that is making Ola chuckle.

Gail stops at the door, her hand resting on the frame, fighting the urge to give Andy a dirty look. Instead, she turns her face to blank and watches Andy climb off the desk and straightens the wristband of her shirt as she speaks. Gail blinks and hopes Andy hasn't been here doing precisely what Gail is here to do.

"Well, thanks for helping me cart this stuff in, McNally." Ola tells her, waving her hand at the boxes. "And say hi to your Dad for me."

"I will," Andy smiles and turns toward the door, spotting Gail. "Hey Gail," she says quietly.

"Hey," Gail gives her a brief smile as she edges past, not wanting to show any tension in front of Ola.

"Hey Peck," Ola says in greeting, running a hand through her short curls. "Can you believe I met that kid when she was eight? I used to work with her Dad, many years ago."

Gail tries to smile like she means it.

"I used to work for your Dad, too, once upon a time. Lots of, uh, family tradition at 15, it seems." Ola shakes her head, smiling.

Gail nods and keeps the smile pasted on. At least the family connection part is out of the way, she thinks. She always dreads that inevitable part of talking to anyone senior in the Toronto police ranks. Anyone who has worked any where in Toronto any time in the last couple of decades always seem to know either her father or her mother, if not both, and they always want to share this fact with her.

"So, welcome to my new, and rather lovely headquarters." Ola waves a hand around the room.

Gail looks around and pulls a sympathetic face. Compared to the rest of the Division, these back offices are pretty shabby, usually used as temporary spaces during short-term investigations, converted from storage. As in, the stacks of boxes are shoved to one side of the room, leaving the few small desks free.

"So you and Rick will be working out of here?" Gail asks, hopefully.

"Looks that way." Ola says, pulling yet another pile of folders out of a box. " Haven't seen you around today. You just starting?"

"Nope, finishing. I was on the front desk," Gail shrugs. She steps properly into the room, leaning against the doorframe, rolling up the report in her hands. "How was Anca today?"

"Much better. We got a lot more solid information today." She leans over the empty desk, pulling a lamp closer to the stack of folders she is sorting through. "We're starting to get a clearer picture."

"Uh, good." Gail crosses her arms over her chest. "I, uh, wanted to ask you something … about the case?"

"Sure." Ola says as her phone starts ringing. She pulls it out of her jacket pocket, checking her watch at the same time. "I finish in fifteen. Want to get a drink and chat then?"

"Uh, sure." Gail nods, surprised, as Ola answers the phone.

**Gail**

By the time she finishes up, gets changed and gets to The Penny, Ola is already there, perched at the bar with two beers already waiting. She smiles and slides one over to Gail as she climbs up onto the stool next to her.

"So," she says, clinking her glass against Gail's and fixing her dark brown eyes on her for a superstitious moment before sipping her beer. "You want to be part of this investigation?"

Gail raises her eyebrows. She wasn't expecting that to come up right off the bat. She takes a nervous sip of her beer and nods, wiping her upper lip with her sleeve.

"Okay then," Ola says, "You're in."

Ola does not mess around, it seems. Gail puts her beer down and tucks her hair behind her ear, leaning back in her chair. Ola is so tall Gail has to sit back slightly as she talks if she wants to see her properly.

"Well, that was a bit of a conversation killer," she smiles dubiously at Ola. "I was going to spend the length of this beer convincing you why I was worthy of it," she confesses, shrugging and raising her hands. "Now I've got nothing."

Ola throws back her head and laughs. "Didn't prepare any small talk then? Don't worry, I still want to know your credentials."

"But you'll give me the job first?" Gail raises an eyebrow. This woman really seems to do things ass backwards. Gail's not sure she really gets her style, but she'll take it.

"Well," Ola folds her arms across her chest and sits back in her seat, running a hand through the tight curls on her head "I know you are a Peck, so unless something seriously went wrong along the family line, you know how to police. You have a good reputation- both Frank and Ollie speak highly of you. And besides," she takes up her beer again. "It was you who decided to check on the kid in the first place." She shrugs. "That speaks to your instincts."

Gail bites her lip and stares down at her beer, not wanting to let on how pleased she is.

"So now, tell me" Ola continues, "What do you know about these kinds of cases?"

Gail takes a deep breath and outlines to Ola what she knows, which is pretty much everything she has read in the last forty-eight hours, She is glad now, curiosity piqued, that she spent the afternoon Frank gave her off the other day slouched over Chris's laptop in the living room, and every spare moment since reading everything she could get her hands on about trafficking and forced labor in Canada. She had even been reading the Montreal trafficking probe report, now secreted in her bag, during quiet spots on shift today.

"I'm not going to lie to you," Gail tells her, nervously holding on to the edge of the bar. "I didn't really know anything before this case. We haven't really dealt with anything like this while I have been here. But I did a lot of reading the past couple of days."

"Sounds like it," Ola chuckles. "Well, if that's how much you know after a few hours reading, I guess we can say you passed the comprehension portion of the test."

Gail smiles. She never could stop trying to be teacher's pet.

"It will be a lot of deskwork, you know." Ola warns her, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the bar. "Lots of research, chasing paper leads."

"That's fine." Gail shrugs. She doesn't even mind that part of investigations, when it is focussed on one thing, when there's an endgame she can understand.

"What about stings and undercover the like? How much experience have you had?

Gail quickly outlines some of the operations she has been part of. She leaves the one from last year until the end. And when she does, she hesitates at first to tell Ola about the resulting kidnap, but she decides to go ahead. It is better if it comes from Gail- if it hasn't already come from someone else.

Gail doesn't usually talk about the kidnap. Not really. She talked about it to the therapist, as much as she had to talk about it to get out of going to the therapist any more. She told Holly way back when they first met, but let it largely figure as a narrative element of another larger story about Traci and Jerry and about Gail and Nick, where she could elide the more specific details. Fortunately, Holly hadn't questioned her any further because Gail still has very little idea what to say about it, except what happened in the briefest of factual detail.

But here, in this moment, she tells Ola.

If this is what it is going to take to prove she can help, she'll use it. Gail doesn't want to admit it to anyone, but this case, and Anca, has got to her in a way that no other case has before. And the more Gail has learned in the last couple of days, the more it has gotten hold of her. And if having to tell this story will help her be able to play a part in this, if it helps to prove that she can manage and can survive the worst of situations, she will use it ruthlessly to do so.

Besides, Gail knows if _she_ tells the story, she can frame it the way she wants. In anyone else's version, she might come off the victim, but in her version, what happened to her can be just an unfortunate side affect of a case well solved. And one where far worse things happened. So that's how she tells it.

"I remember hearing something about this, about what happened to Barber." Ola shakes her head. "You were lucky, Peck."

"I know," Gail reaches out and wipes some of the condensation from her glass instead of looking at Ola.

"I've been in an undercover situation or two that have threatened to go wrong but nothing like that has ever happened." Ola takes a sip of her beer and moves on. "Okay, well, from what we know this is a case of whoever brought Anca over, getting people here on a promise of domestic work."

"Okay," Gail says, glad Ola has changed the subject for her.

"Problem, of course, is that Anca has never seen a cent. We have to move quickly now, too. The people who have been keeping her are probably sweating, now she's been gone a few days. They'll know a lost teenage girl with barely a word of English is bound to show up in the hands of authorities pretty quickly."

"So, what do we do now?" Gail asks.

"Well," Ola lifts her empty glass. "We've got quite a bit to do. You want another beer?"

"Sure," Gail says, leaning forward, "But let me get it this time. You tell me the plan."

**Gail**

As soon as she gets home from the bar, she calls Holly.

"Hello." Holly sounds exhausted.

"Hey, sorry, were you asleep?" Gail checks her watch, surprised. It's not _that _late.

"No, I'm just lying on the couch, paralysed."

"What's wrong?"

"I went to the gym with Michael tonight."

"And?" Gail kicks off her shoes and sits cross-legged on her bed.

"Prisoner squats. Lots of them," Holly moans.

"I have no idea what that means," Gail tells her, pulling the corner of the bedspread over her lap. "I don't speak gym."

"It means I think he might be trying to kill me."

Gail laughs. "Oh, right."

"Seriously, babe. I think he is,"

"Now who's being melodramatic, Holly?" Gail tells her, unzipping her jacket and tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear while she yanks her arms out of the sleeves of one side. "So, have you got a motive?"

"A motive?"

"Well, with a murder suspect," Gail swaps the phone to her other ear and pull off the other side of her jacket. "You have to start with the motive."

"Hmm, maybe he didn't like dinner the other night?"

"Yeah, well, you are such an awful cook," Gail tells her, flopping back against the pillows on her bed. "I've been meaning to tell you that."

"Oh, really?" Holly says slowly. "I promise I'll never make anything for you _ever_ again."

"Oh no, don't do that," Gail tells her quickly, lying back on her bed.

"Anyway, I think I am just super-tired or something. I feel crappy." Holly tells her. "Okay, enough of my complaining. Tell me about your day,"

Gail smiles. That is exactly what she wants to do. She tells Holly about the new investigation, how she had raised the courage to ask Ola for a place on it, and how Ola already wanted her in on it.

"That's really, really great, Gail." Holly tells her. "God, you are _killing it_ this week."

"I am." Gail agrees, grinning. Now she wishes, as ever, that she'd gone to Holly's place tonight instead of coming home, and that she was lying on her couch with her instead of preparing to go to bed alone. But it is probably best. She starts on the investigation tomorrow.

"Hey, and at least you mother can't complain that you are lost and directionless now."

"Oh, she still will, probably," Gail says, frowning. "But I don't care if she does."

"Good," Holly tells her. "Keep not caring. Because you _are_ amazing."

**To be continued...**

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**Author's note: Thanks so much for you reviews so far. I'll try and update a bit quicker with the next chapter.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	16. Chapter 16:Gail and Holly

**Holly**

But Holly isn't winning the next week. Not at all.

For starters, she's been tired. All week she has been feeling an unseasonable lethargy she just can't shake. Fearing that she is getting sick, she has tried to fight it off. She has been going to bed early. She skipped the gym. She even upped the vegetable ante. But she just couldn't shake this insidious weariness, or the inexplicable crankiness that couldn't be quick-fixed with a strong cup of tea or a chatty coffee break with Thao.

It's been making work hard, too. Her fresh new pair of interns arrived all bright-eyed and bushy–tailed, and are as full of questions as ever. Usually Holly likes that. She always enjoys the first few days, figuring out what kind of people they are, showing them the ropes, and kindly but firmly training them in the fine art of distinguishing between a stupid question and a pertinent one. But this week the incessant inquiries have been grating on her. She has managed to keep her cool, but even the internal exasperation, the kind which causes the internal sighs and eye rolls and for her to plot ways to get them out of the office for as long as possible, has made her feel mean. And Holly hates feeling mean.

And to top off a less than satisfying working week, she hasn't seen Gail either. There have been phone calls and one brief sighting, but that's about it. Now that she is working the trafficking case, Gail's been on a weird, unpredictable roster, fitted to the long hours and the demands of the investigation. And when she is due to finish at a reasonable time, when they might actually have a chance to see each other, she has ended up having to stay on late. And other nights, when she does finish work at a semi-reasonable time, Holly has been asleep, surrendering to whatever it is that is consuming her with exhaustion, and Gail has gone home to her own bed.

And now Holly misses her. In fact, she almost feels alarmed by how much she misses her. It feels too soon, or too intense, to feel her absence this fiercely. But Holly can't seem to fight the feelings of longing that are dogging what have already been somewhat crappy days.

And she knows it is probably the fact that she's not feeling great causing a level of angst of the type that Holly wouldn't usually feel just over a few days of separation. She hasn't told Gail when they've spoken, not wanting to bother her with the mundane details of what might or might not be illness, not when she has her head so firmly, so excitedly inside this case. But whatever it is that is wrong with her is making her feel all kinds of pathetic feelings that Holly doesn't usually feel.

And she doesn't like it.

She does not like feeling pathetic. She definitely doesn't like how Gail's unavailability makes her feel needy—she has _never_ been the needy type. And worst of all, she doesn't like that she occasionally finds herself insecure enough to wonder if Gail was even missing her at all.

Holly knows in the sensible, non-fighting sickness parts of her brain that it is just the busyness keeping Gail away, and she certainly doesn't want to feel resentful about Gail's work, or to demand her attention from it. Besides, how could she when she knows Gail is getting such a tangible sense of pleasure and fulfilment from this job she is working on, the job that is taking up all her time? When Gail clearly needed something like this to happen?

But it hadn't stopped her wondering if Gail was feeling this separation as acutely as Holly was.

That was, until Thursday.

Thursday was when this non-specific weariness was starting to turn into the more distinct overtures of illness. Thursday was the day when she woke up with that taste— that weird wet wool nothingness in her mouth that makes food taste like nothing and her appetite disappear. The drag in her limbs had shifted decisively to an ache and the feelings of tetchiness were much harder to suppress. All the warning signs. Still she went to work, because not going to work would be letting it win. And Holly wasn't completely convinced that she couldn't fight this one, yet.

It is early afternoon and she has sent one of her interns to Tox to learn the ropes, meanwhile setting the other, Mandy, to reviewing some sample results in the corner. She is relishing in this half hour of peace and prepping for her next job when she hears a small hiss coming from the door. She looks up. And there is Gail, in uniform, clutching either side of the door and leaning in, wearing that goofy grin she gets sometimes. Holly is about to greet her when Gail quickly places a finger over her mouth in a 'ssh', eyes wide, pointing at Mandy's back with her other hand.

Holly shuts her mouth and puts down the tray of tools, wondering what Gail is up to. She enters the room with an exaggerated tiptoe, moving closer to Holly. Just as she is sneaking around to Holly's side of the slab, Mandy, clearly detecting some disruption— some ripple in the quiet of the lab— turns around, latching onto Gail's sudden presence with an inquisitive look on her rounded baby face.

Gail turns and aims, well, it's not a dirty look, Holly thinks, but it is a look so deliberately, coldly blank that the moment their eyes meet, Mandy instantly whips back around to her work, her curiosity thwarted by intimidation. Holly wants to laugh, but doesn't. Gail knows just the right way to terrify a newbie intern. Clearly pleased with her small accomplishment, Gail grins, turns back to Holly, grabs her face between her hands, staring at her with a pair of what are, today, a pair whimsical blue eyes. Then, before Holly can warn her about her possible, impending illness, Gail closes her lips gently on hers for a brief but exhilarating second. She immediately pulls away, whips around and tiptoes quickly out of the room, her hands held out comically at her sides.

Holly stifles a laugh and goes back to work, wondering what brought that little act on. Holly doesn't even know what she is doing here, let alone what compelled her to take a risk like that. Gail would usually never do anything like that while in uniform- not outside of a darkened interview room, anyway. However belligerent she can be sometimes, she doesn't like to break the rules. Her question is answered when she checks her phone at lunch.

_Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I MISS YOU x_

And now she knows.

That small, goofily spontaneous act of affection, and that short message told Holly all she needed to know— all she needed to assuage this unsettling vulnerability she hasn't been able to shake —that Gail feels at least something of the same longing that is plaguing Holly right now. And knowing that was succour enough to help carry Holly through missing her a bit longer.

On Friday, the first thing Holly notices when she wakes up is how much it hurts to swallow. That's when she knows what she is in for. Rolling onto her back, she gauges the scratchy sting of her throat and the full-out ache in her limbs that always seem to accompany this particular malady for her. She lets out a resigned sigh. Tonsilitis. Holly likes to think of herself as a hardy person- the type that doesn't _do_ illness. Even as a kid, when all kinds of bugs and flus would sweep through her grade at school, or wipe out her sports teams, she'd often get through these plagues unscathed. "The kid's got a heck of a constitution," her family doctor used to always say, checking over her records on the rare occasion her parents did have to take her to see him.

Holly has one weakness, however: at least once a year, every year, she succumbs to a bout of infected tonsils. Not often enough for her doctor to consider removing them, but often enough to be annoying. It seems this is going to be her time of the year.

Still, telling herself it is just the tentative beginnings of something and, being ever-optimistic (as she stupidly is every year), Holly takes herself off to work in the hope it is just a mere sore throat doing a cheeky impersonation of something worse. She has things to do today and things to teach to a couple of interns who will be at a dangerous loose end if she leaves them to themselves, or in the care of one of the other departments. Beside, she does not want to stay at home with what will become the dull, uncomfortable certainty of illness as company. She'd rather be at work.

By late morning, though, she knows she is fighting a losing battle. For the last two hours she has been feeling flushed and creepy, and her throat hurts more than it did when she woke up.

When Gail calls, she is sitting at her desk, staring at the screen, taking nothing in, surrendering to the now-palpable symptoms of illness and wondering if she should go home.

"It's Friday." Gail greets her gleefully as she answers the phone.

"It is, indeed, Friday," Holly agrees, feeling a small welling of pleasure at the sound of her voice.

"And you know what that means?"

"Um, not exactly." And it's true. With Gail's whacky work hours— and Gail's whacky mind– it could mean anything.

"It means I am going out. It means I am going out even though I am obscenely tired. It means I am going out even though I really need to wash my hair. It means I am going out even though I have to work tomorrow." Gail sounds positively exuberant. "And it means that you are coming out to celebrate this whole being Friday-ness with me."

"I'd love to, babe." Holly rests her elbow on the desk and her chin in her hand, shutting her eyes for a drawn-out moment. "But I can't."

"Why not?" Gail's glee turns immediately to petulance. "What could you possibly have to do that is better than seeing me?"

"Nothing, of course," Holly can't help a small weary smile. "But I think I just need to go home to bed. I'm actually feeling pretty awful."

"What do you mean? Are you sick?"

"Yeah, I've been feeling tired and crappy all week. Now I know why." She sighs. "I'm pretty sure I've got tonsillitis."

"But I thought that was a kid sickness?"

"I think it mostly is." Holly tells her. "But for some reason I still get it every now and then."

"Oh, poor Holly." Gail says. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't feel so bad until today. Besides, you don't need to be bothered with it. You're busy with the case and stuff." Holly shrugs. "It's boring."

"Hey, you don't decide if I'm bored. I get to decide if I'm bored," Gail tells her.

"Sorry." Holly smiles. How does she always manage to be so combative and so sweet at the same time? It's a fine art. And Gail has it down.

"So, where are you?"

"At work."

"How do you feel right now?"

"Pretty crappy."

"Well go home then."

"I'm going to."

"When?"

"Soon."

"Good."

The staccato futility of that small exchange makes them both laugh.

"Gail sighs. "I had better get back to work."

"And I am about to leave," Holly says, deciding on the spot that dragging her sorry self home is probably the best idea.

"Good. You should go lie down on the couch and watch some crappy TV or something and rest."

"Sorry I couldn't come out with you." Holly tells her, thinking about how great it would have been to get a little dressed up, to see Gail out in the world, to hang out and flirt and enjoy knowing that at the end of the night, she is going to get to go home with this crazy, beautiful woman. "Have fun tonight, though, babe," she says, feeling even more sorry for herself now that she has put that thought into her own brain.

"What do you mean?" Gail tells her.

"Have fun out." Holly says again, reaching for her bag.

"Pfft. I'll be over later, when I finish work, okay?"

"No, don't." Holly tells her, surprised. "Go and have fun. You've been working so hard." And as much as she would love to see her, Holly means it.

"Shut up Holly." It seems this is becoming Gail's line. "Sick you trumps me getting drunk at The Penny. I'll see you later."

With that, she hangs up. And Holly just puts her head down on the desk and smiles. She wasn't going to argue any more, anyway.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's note: Thanks so much for you reviews so far. I'll try and update a bit quicker with the next chapter.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	17. Chapter 17: Gail and Holly

**Holly**

"You made soup?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, holding out the saucepan in her gloved hands. "I made soup."

"On your own?" Holly says, taking the warm pot, putting it on the bench and opening the lid. It certainly _looks_ like soup. Chicken soup, with noodles.

"Yes Holly, I made soup. I _can _actually cook you know." Gail leans against the bench on her hands, resting against her shoulder and peering into the saucepan with her. "I just elect, most of the time, not to." She shrugs. "Besides, I wasn't on my own. I had Google. And Traci on hand as my phone-a-friend."

"Right," Holly chuckles putting the lid back on the pan and turning to Gail, covering her hand with her own. "Thank you. You're lovely."

Gail turns, pulling off her gloves, and smiles back at her. But her smile turns quickly to frown.

"Oh, wow. You look like crap," she says, reaching out and taking Holly by her hands, pulling her toward her and folding her into an embrace.

"Aw, thanks," Holly tells her, grinning and resting her cheek on Gail's shoulder.

"Oh you know what I mean."

"Well, I warned you not to come," Holly mutters, pressing herself against Gail, wallowing in the pleasure of being consumed by her again, relishing in the hand that is rubbing slow, soothing circles around her back. She feels so pathetic right now this little bit of comfort almost makes her want to burst into tears.

"Don't be an idiot," Gail tells her, squeezing her tighter. "I wanted to see you. Even this sad, decrepit version of you."

"You are so very sweet," Holly tells her, pushing her away. "Now get away. I could be contagious."

Gail pouts, but does as she is told.

"So, do you need to go and see the doctor or anything?" she asks, pulling her phone out of her pocket and putting it on the bench before unzipping her jacket.

"Already went." Holly pulls off her glasses and goes and takes them over to the coffee table. "Antibiotics, rest, fluids, blah blah." That reminds her to take the pills. She pushes an antibiotic from the bubble pack and two painkillers from the small plastic jar and washes them down, wincing, with her glass of water.

"Okay, so do you need to sleep?" Gail asks. "Or do you want a cup of tea? Some of the soup? A bath? Anything?"

Holly just smiles at her. Beautiful Gail, trying to look after her. She shakes her head. She stands there next to the couch and takes her in from this short distance. Holly is not sure if it is just in comparison to how she feels, but Gail looks great. She looks cleared-eyed and alive and more vividly lovely than usual.

"Nope, not right now." Holly holds out her hand, "I just want you to come and sit on the couch with me, where I can look at you."

Gail gives her a sceptical look.

"I've missed you … a lot" Holly shrugs. "Let me just look at you."

"Okay" Gail's smile radiates a bashful warmth, even from a few feet away. She turns and quickly kicks off her boots, and comes over to Holly, taking her hand and pulling her onto the sofa.

"Let's just sit, then."

**Holly**

Feeling a little better after the drugs kick in, she is just starting on a small bowl of her perfectly edible, and even quite nice chicken soup when the doorbell rings. She gets up to answer it.

"Hi hon, you feeling any better?" It's Michael, marching into her kitchen the way he marches into every place he ever arrives in. He quickly kisses his hand and presses it on her cheek by way of greeting. "Don't want your germs." He holds out the Tupperware container he is carrying. "I made you some soup."

Holly laughs.

"What?"

"You brought soup."

"So?" he shrugs. "This is what we single girls must do for each other. Oh, except you're not single anymore, I forgot." He pulls off his coat. "Besides, what's wrong with soup?"

"Nothing, it's sweet." Holly tells him, taking the container, and tipping her head in the direction of the living area where Gail is sitting on the floor, her bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of her. "Gail made soup, too."

Michael whips around in the direction of the living room and Holly watches him curiously— voraciously even— take in the presence of Gail. Gail gives him a diffident smile as she stands up and walks slowly over to them, brushing her hands against the back of her jeans.

Michael smiles and lifts his hand in her direction and hammily tells her, "Well then, high five to us."

Gail responds to his demand for her hand, slapping it gently with a dubious smile that dissolves into a tiny giggle.

Holly smiles. Michael is like that. His unabashed willingness for no-holds-barred silliness makes it easier for everyone around him to be the same.

"Gail this is my friend Michael. Michael, this is Gail."

"Hi," Gail tells him shyly, her hands thrust into the back pockets of her jeans.

"It's really nice to finally meet you, Gail," he smiles, his hazel eyes shining. Then he slaps his hand on the bench and looks at Gail then at Holly. "I guess we better eat some soup, then, huh?"

Gail is pretty quiet over dinner. It's easy to be silenced though, Holly knows, because given the chance, Michael will never stop talking. He is the king of relentless, incessant chatter. He has just finished relating a story about one of his clients, when he suddenly turns on Gail.

"You have really, really beautiful eyes," he tells her.

"Uh … thanks." Gail looks down at her soup, clearly unnerved by this curveball compliment.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm _so_ gay", he tells her, chortling over his bowl.

"Oh, I didn't …" Gail starts to say, but Holly steps in.

"Don't worry, Michael. I don't think she thinks you want her hand in marriage now. She's just bad at taking compliments."

"Oh," he says knowingly.

"You're lucky she didn't tell you to shut up," Holly teases, smiling at Gail.

Gail blushes and tries to give her a dirty look. She doesn't look that upset, though.

Then, there is another knock at the door.

"What?" Holly says, frowning and putting down her spoon.

"It's Maya. I'll get it." Michael jumps up off the sofa. "She called me before. She said she was going to come see how you were, too."

Holly looks over at Gail. She looks a little wary. She hopes Gail doesn't think she orchestrated this surprise friend attack. This is not exactly how she planned on Gail's first meeting with the twins happening. In fact, she had thought maybe one at a time might have been better. But she'll survive this, Holly thinks, getting up from the sofa and slowly following Michael.

Michael pulls open the door and Maya bustles in, a rush of cold air entering with her.

"Please tell me you didn't make soup." Michael says, before she can even speak.

"Pfft. Make soup?" Maya is incredulous. She hands Michael a plastic bag, kisses her brother on the cheek and hangs her jacket on the last spare hook by the door. She turns quickly to Holly, grabbing her arm and squeezing it. "I love you Holly, but not that much. I don't even make my husband soup, and I basically made a legally binding vow to care for him in sickness and health."

"I don't think that part is actually legally binding, May," Michael tells her, ever the lawyer, pulling an extra bowl from the cupboard.

"So, I bought take away Pho." Maya points at the plastic bag on the counter.

Holly and Michael crack up.

"What?" Maya says in her deep voice, narrowing her eyes and combing her fingers through her tangled black bob.

"Pho _is_ soup." Michael tells her slowly.

Maya shakes her head. "No, it's noodles."

"Maya, honey, it's soup," he says again.

"Really?" Maya turns and looks at Holly.

"Sorry May, it's a Vietnamese noodle soup," Holly tells her, "That I am very grateful for," she quickly adds.

"Gail, tell her it's a soup," Michael turns to Gail, hands on hips, always wanting to win one over his sister.

Maya also turns to Gail, clearly expecting an answer.

Gail, looking somewhat like a person under social siege, gives her an apologetic look and nods her assent as she stands. "Soup," she says as she ducks into the bathroom.

"This is like some sort of old-time farce. No more soup, thanks world." Michael turns to Holly, his hands in the air. "Now Holly, is there anyone else who could possibly bring you soup tonight? We could fashion a sign of some sort, send out a Twitter warning." He pulls a spoon from the drawer. "Or maybe could compete to be soup best in show. Make you eat all of them, Holls, and then tell us which one you liked better- and therefore which one of us you like better."

Maya, eyes wide, flaps her hand at him, quieting him. She fixes her eyes on Holly and points in the direction of the bathroom. "Is that _her_?" she hisses.

"It is," Michael interjects, handing Maya a bowl and spoon at the same time. "She's hot, right? Right?"

Holly smiles "Be gentle, Maya. No interrogating. She may not seem like it, but she's actually…"

She doesn't finish her sentence because Gail walks back in the room with a tissue. It's probably better Holly doesn't say anything anyway. It will just make Maya more curious. Besides, despite all her protestations otherwise, Gail does seem to be able to hold her own with strangers.

Once the next round of introduction are made, they all sit back in the living room, embarking an their soup-eating extravaganza.

"Anything gross or freaky at work this week, Holls?" Maya asks, ripping the lid off one of the take-out containers.

"Not really," Holly shrugs. "Except me."

"Good. No gory stories over dinner, please," Michael tells her.

"Wimp." Maya tells him, tapping him on the arm with her spoon. "Come on, it's the best thing about Holly doing that freaky job. I get to find out everything I ever wanted to know about death and murder. Maya sighs. "God, my job is so boring."

"What do you do?" Gail asks. It's the first thing she has said since they all sat down.

"Publishing."

"Oh, cool."

"Yeah, most people think that because I am close to the books, but it's not." Maya jabs her chopsticks into her noodles, "Mainly because I am not really anywhere near the books."

"Oh."

What about you? Police, right? What's that like? I bet you have great stories, too."

Holly grins. Maya has a habit of looking at people as mobile entertainment units sometimes.

"Also not as exciting as people think it is." Gail shrugs, keeping her eyes on her food.

"Except lately," Holly interrupts. There's been nothing but drama since they met, Holly thinks.

Gail looks up and smiles at her. "Yeah, well," she sighs, "Except lately. Sure, we have murders and drug busts and drama. But there are also lots of boring days like today, just spent chained to a desk."

"Chained to a desk?" Michael raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound dull at all."

"Oh Michael, you luminous wit, you." Maya turns and gives him a look.

"Shut up." Michael tells her.

Holly watches Gail smile into her soup.

"So, have you ever shot anyone?" Maya asks.

"Maya, you can't ask her that!" Michael snaps at his sister.

"I was kidding!" Maya says, hands up in the air. "What I really want to know is," she leans forward, "That uniform. Does it chafe?"

"Uh, _yeah_," Gail tells her, dropping her spoon in her bowl and leaning back on her hands. "There is nothing from nature in that material, believe me."

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's note: Your reviews are deeply appreciated.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	18. Chapter 18: Gail and Holly

**Holly**

The twins leave as soon as dinner is done.

"I've got a date. Well, sort of," Michael tells them as he stacks up the bowls and carries them to the sink where Gail is rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher.

"And I," says Maya, coming out of Holly's bathroom, where she has been re-applying her make up. "Am going to fly by a work drinks, just to get drunk enough to be actually enjoy the fact that I'm going to spend my Friday night at home watching hockey with my husband." She sighs. "Because we are boring." She turns to Michael. "Lift, please?"

"Okay," he sighs.

She grabs him and kisses his cheek.

They leave together in a clatter of get better soon wishes, nice to meet yous and blown kisses.

Closing the door behind them, Holly turns to Gail, who is still at the sink, finishing the last of the dishes.

"See? Not scary?"

"Shut up, Holly," Gail tells her, turning and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. But she's smiling. "Not at all."

"Sorry about the interrogation. I didn't know they were coming." she says. "And Maya does like to know everything."

"S'fine," Gail mutters, throwing the rubbish into the trash. "They're funny."

"You should get going, too." Holly tells her, leaning against the bench and watching Gail making herself at home in her kitchen. That would be a first.

"Why?" Gail frowns.

"Because it's early and you could still go out."

"But I don't want to go out."

"Really?" The last thing Holly wants is for Gail to think she has to stay with her, to feel obliged just because she is sick. "I feel better, and you could have some fun after your huge week of work."

"Really." Gail hangs the dishtowel neatly on the rail and comes over to her. "I don't want to go."

"You'll be angry if you catch this," Holly tells her, trying one last tack to free Gail.

Gail wrinkles her nose. "Can you even catch tonsillitis?"

"Sometimes," Holly shrugs. "Depends what kind. I Googled it."

"Well, if yours is catching, I think have pretty much taken care of that now. Might as well stick around and let the germs soak in." She steps in closer and wraps her arms around Holly's waist. "Besides, don't you want me to stroke your head and make you tea while we watch the movie I brought?"

Holly smiles, tilting her head and nudging it into Gail's shoulder, a silent thank you. "I do," she whispers, feeling a hand automatically curl into the hair at the base of her neck.

Gail is determined to look after her, it seems. And Holly doesn't mind letting her.

**Holly**

The film is kind of stupid, even though they'd both seen the preview together a while back and thought it might be good. Not that it matters. Holly doesn't think she could have concentrated on anything much, anyway. The painkillers have smoothed the edges of her pain and even her arrested her fever, but she still feels gross.

She looks sideways at Gail. She is watching the movie, but she doesn't look all that enthralled. Holly reaches over and grabs her wrist, pulling her hand onto her lap.

"Hey, thanks for coming over," she says softly, wrapping her fingers around Gail's. "Especially when you could have gone out."

Gail just turns and gives her a scoff-y, incredulous look, before turning back to the screen without a uttering a word. Holly smiles and returns to the movie. That's when Gail suddenly leans over and kisses her not once, but twice on the side of her head.

Holly looks up at her, surprised by this random attack of affection. Gail smiles in profile, but doesn't look at her.

It doesn't matter. Holly knows exactly what those kisses are supposed to say. It's telling her that Gail wanted to be here with her- even if she is a sickly mess. More than going out. And that Holly should know that.

Well, now she does.

**Holly**

Holly wakes up in a pool of her own sweat. She arrives to the day with the icky duelling sensation of her sodden clothing under the covers pressed against her against the chill of moisture drying on her exposed skin above the covers. She reaches out slowly and picks up her phone. It is 7am.

She slowly rolls over to find Gail awake, as ever, lying on top of the covers next to her, reading some thing from a file folder lying next to her. She looks up as Holly turns to face her.

"Hey," she says gently. "How are you?"

"Okay." Holly mutters. "I think I had night fever."

"You did," Gail tells her, reaching out and stroking her hair from her face. "You were so hot, and tossing around so much, I had to go sleep on the couch."

"Really?" Holly asks, plucking her damp t-shirt away from her stomach and blinking into the morning light. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, stupid." Gail tells her, smiling. "You're sick. Besides," she shrugs, "Your couch is comfy."

Holly shuts her eyes and encircles Gail's arm with her hand, glad she is still here. She tries to roll backward into sleep but the creepy cold-but-hot feeling from her damp clothes, the demands of her dry mouth re working against that. Eventually she caves.

"I think I better shower," she says, pulling herself up onto her elbow and swallowing a sip of her water. She flinches. Her throat still hurts. "I feel gross." She climbs slowly out of bed. "I'll be back. Don't leave."

"Not going anywhere." Gail sings, eyes fixed to her paper.

"What time do you go to work?" Holly asks as she pulls some fresh clothes from her drawer.

"Not until lunchtime."

"Yay." She raises a feeble fist.

Gail giggles. "Cute, but don't waste your energy."

Just walking to the bathroom is an effort. Her legs feel weak and her lower back is aching. The quick shower at least does something to restore her to feeling like a human person, but it is tiring.

By the time she gets out of the bathroom and shuffles back into the bedroom, Gail has changed her bedding and remade the bed. As she goes to pick up her glasses she notices the small bunch of yellow flowers in a glass beside her bed, sitting next to today's newspaper and a fresh bottle of water. Gail must have gone out already, before she woke up.

She pads back out into the living room to find her. Gail still sitting there on the couch, television off, staring into the middle distance.

"Thank you."

Gail doesn't answer her at first. After a moment she starts talking.

"Isn't it weird how so many people comment when they meet twins that they are nothing alike? Like they are really surprised?"

"Why is it weird?" Holly asks, going along with the tangent, drying the dripping ends of her hair with a towel.

"Because, really, two people who are forced to grow up right in each other's face are the least likely to turn out the same, aren't they?" She bites her lip thoughtfully. "It's the only way you could distinguish yourself, to have your own personality."

"Yeah," Holly agrees, tucking the towel around her neck and sitting back on the couch. Standing up for too long is exhausting. "People always do say that. And I guess you're right."

Gail is silent for another minute. Finally, she turns toward Holly.

"So did those two already know you were sick?"

"Who? Michael and Maya?" Holly asks, shivering with a sudden feeling of cold and wondering where this is going.

"Yeah. Before last night."

"I guess," Holly pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them for warmth. She should go and find a jumper, but she's can't commit to the walk just yet. "I cancelled gym with Michael early this week, and I told him then. I probably told Maya, too. Or he told her." She shrugs. "Why?"

"So then, why didn't you tell _me _you were sick?" Gail passes her the blanket folded on the arm of the couch next to her. "I spoke to you a bunch of times."

"Um, like I said, its not that interesting. And you were busy," Holly says, gratefully wrapping the blanket around her.

"So? That's stupid."

"Uh, thanks?" Holly raises her eyebrows.

"Well it is." Gail insists. "And annoying."

"Why, Gail?" Holly unfolds her legs and leans forward, closer, as if it is going to make it easier to figure out where Gail is going with this.

"Because you should have told me, that's why." Gail turns to her, her blue eyes disconcertingly fierce for this time of morning.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Holly says, surprised by the vehemency of Gail's tone. She reaches out and pulls Gail's jumper sleeve, trying to mollify her with a smile. "I just thought you had enough on your mind, the job, the fallout from your mother, all the stuff at work and …" she trails off. "Besides, if I'd known you would make soup…" Holly teases, reaching out and jabbing Gail's side.

Gail slaps her leg gently. "I'm serious, Holly!"

"I'm sorry," Holly says.

Gail just nods, still biting at her lip. Holly watches her, wondering what thoughts she is chasing down in that ever-turning mind.

Eventually Gail turns back toward her.

"You know … I know I've had a lot of … stuff happen, lately, and everything has been a bit crazy, and I've been a bit messed up, sometimes, and you've always been looking after me but …" She suddenly lifts herself up, turning around so she is kneeling on the couch in front of Holly, her blue eyes firmly fixed on her. "But that doesn't mean you always have to be okay. You can be less than together, sometimes, too, you know. And need me." she shrugs, raising her hands. "I mean, I'm your girlfriend, aren't I?" She gives Holly a fierce look, but then looks away almost immediately, clearly wrought shy by her ardent declaration of possession.

Holly smiles, nodding. She loves how it isn't even really posed as a question. How Gail doesn't ask, or even check for her consensus. She just _tells_ her the way things are. And Holly smiles some more because she is completely right.

Gail sighs. "And you're supposed to be able to call me when you are sick. I might be a mess in my own life sometimes, but I am completely capable of taking care of you. You can make demands of me, even if it is just to call me and tell me you feel like crap." She looks up at Holly, her face more earnest than Holly has ever seen it. "_Me_," she says, "Not your friends. It doesn't matter if I am working, or whatever, I'm still here and, well, you should have called me." Her voice softens almost to plaintive as she finishes her fervent little speech.

"I'm sorry," Holly tells her, "I just didn't want to assume you would …"

"But that's what I am saying, idiot," Gail pulls on her hair. "You can assume. You _should_ assume."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I promise I'll call you next time." Holly places one of her hands over Gail's. "Lecture over?" she asks, teasing.

Gail immediately curls her fingers around Holly's and smiles a small smile at Holly, shrugging bashfully. "I just want you to be able to expect the same from me as I get from you."

"Okay," Holly runs a hand through her hair. 'Well right now I need you to come back to bed with me and rub my back, because I feel like crap."

"Okay." Gail gets up and takes her by the hands, pulling her gently to her feet. When they get to the bedroom Gail drops her hand and hurries forward to pull back the covers. Grateful, Holly slides into the bed, feeling like a geriatric, but enjoying the whiff of clean sheets, fresh flowers and the comfort of her mattress.

"Thank you for the flowers," she murmurs, looking up at them for a moment before rolling over toward Gail.

"Do you need anything else?" Gail asks her, touching her cheek. "I can read you the paper? Or the Montreal Human Trafficking Report?" she holds up a thick document with a teasing grin. "It's pretty exciting stuff, all one hundred and eighty six pages of it."

Holly shakes her head, smiling. "I just need to lie here," she says, tucking her head against Gail's side.

"Okay, you do that." Gail tells her gently, picking up her report in one hand and resting her free hand on Holly's side. "Tell me if you want anything."

Holly just lies there sleepily and looks up at Gail as she reads the report, her lips slightly pursed, her eyes intent on the page. She watches as she occasionally reaches up to tuck a hair behind her ear, even when it doesn't need to be tucked, and licks her finger before turning the page.

Suddenly Gail smiles at her paper. "Stop watching me read," she says self-consciously.

"Sorry." Holly smiles, kissing Gail's sleeve. "You're beautiful."

"Shut up," she says, reaching out and taking Holly's hand.

"And I'm sorry," Holly tells her again. "I think I've just got used to being self-sufficient." She shrugs as Gail looks over at her. "And I think maybe I like being the together one, too."

Gail squeezes her hand. "Well you can be the together one most of the time. That shouldn't be too hard." Gail grins. "But not all the time. Now go to sleep."

"Okay." Holly sighs and rolls over. It looks like she is just going to have to get used to Gail surprising her in more and more ways. Because so far, since the moment they met, it hasn't stopped happening.

And almost immediately, Holly feels herself drifting off into a sleep already infinitely better than the last.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's note: Your reviews are deeply appreciated.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	19. Chapter 19: Gail and Holly

Gail has no gaydar and she knows it.

In the past she's usually had to rely on people letting her know what team they bat for. She had thought that maybe the fact that she is now seeing a woman might help. It apparently hasn't.

She is in their messy little back office, working through on the case. This whole thing has been a steep learning curve. There are so many small elements to orchestrating this kind of operation, things that she has never even thought about before, and now she has to learn them, and learn how to make them happen quickly. In the past week she has been part of it at every level, from finding the right officers to go undercover to the more mundane, pragmatic details, like where these detectives from Child Protection are going to live, how they are going to communicate, etc. At this very moment she is poring over the lease, making sure the landlord put in everything they had agreed to on the phone.

"Hey Gail,"

She looks up. It's Nick. It's something of a shock to see his earnest, handsome face here in this office. It's been a while since she's seen him, or any of the others in a work capacity. Largely because she has been keeping different hours, and has been confined mostly to this room, which is starting to feel like it bears little connection with the rest of 15, except when Frank comes down to check in on their progress, or Oliver sticks his head in to throw a joke at them.

He is standing a wary distance from her desk, holding a piece of paper, as if she is some kind of animal that is going to bite the hand that feeds.

"Frank said this requisition form was supposed to go to you," he tells her.

"Thanks," she mutters, reaching out quickly, without making eye contact, and taking the paper. She tosses it onto her to-do list stack of papers.

"So, uh, how are you?"

She looks up again, eyebrows raised, surprised by the question. They haven't had a conversation since they last worked patrol together, weeks ago. And that could barely be called a conversation. More of a small talk intended to signal they were both ready to speak to each other again without fear or fighting.

"I'm fine," she mutters.

She doesn't want to ice him out, but she doesn't want to keep him in here either. Now is not the time for chitchat.

Besides, one particularly great thing about this job is the way this back office has become a kind of awesome respite, a recovery space from everything that has happened of late. It's been almost like a holiday, a weird, crime fighting holiday, but a holiday nonetheless. When this investigation's done, she feels like she'll be able to join the others again, fortified by having had some mental space from all the drama, real and unnecessary that has surrounded them recently

So she doesn't return the cordiality and ask him how he is doing like she knows she is supposed to in the spirit of maintaining any goodwill between them. Because more than wanting to make things okay, she wants him and his reminder of this recent past to leave, to not be able touch the aura of calm she has pulled around herself of late. Maybe that will give him the hint.

It does.

"Okay, I'll see you around then, Gail." he says, saying her name in that pointed way he always used to do when he was reprimanding her without actually saying anything.

"Yeah, see ya, Nick," she says, as casually as she can, listening with relief to the sound of his boots headed for the door.

She goes back to her work.

"You used to go out with him, right?"

Gail looks up, surprised.

It's Ola at her own desk on the other side of the room, looking down at her notes, her chin cupped in her hand.

Gail swallows, thrown by the directness of the question. Nobody talks out loud about that stuff around here. It's all done in whispers and asides. And certainly no on ever, _ever_ asks Gail about it. Gail thought she'd worked hard enough around here to ensure no one, aside from her actual friends, ever thinks its safe to ask her anything she doesn't want to be asked.

But that doesn't figure for Ola. One of things she is learning quickly about her new boss, aside from the fact she's a fast talker, a great interrogator and dead serious when it comes to her work, is that she doesn't mind asking a personal question or two. It's either that or her line between what is personal and public is a damn sight different than Gail's.

For example, she's already asked her plenty of questions in their downtime about growing up in the Peck family. No one does that. Instead of just making assumptions, or giving her attitude like some of the other rookies and detectives had when she first started, she seems genuinely curious about what it is like growing up in a family of police, in why someone would choose to follow that line, about the pressure to perform. Unlike with her friends when they first met, her questions allow Gail to own having had problems and pressures and difficulties because of her family, instead of them being written off as poor little privileged nepotism girl problems. Gail has come to appreciate it.

And besides, Gail doesn't dare _not_ answer the question. She's harbouring what she knows is probably a healthy fear of crossing this woman; one of the toughest police Gail has ever met.

So she answers the question.

"Yep," she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck as she leans over the paper.

"Bad habit of this job isn't it?" Ola says lightly. "In-work dating." She shrugs. "Of course it's pretty hard not to when you barely have any time to do anything but work and only ever see people from work."

"Uh huh," Gail sighs her agreement.

"And then things inevitably get messy," Ola shakes her head.

"Yup." Gail agrees again. How could she not, given the epic disasters that were her last two relationships?

She wonders if seeing Holly is considered in-work dating. The lab's kind of connected to the Division, she thinks. Nah, she decides, shrugging inwardly. Dating Holly is like dating work-adjacent. That at least _sounds_ better, she decides.

She looks over at Ola, hunched over the corner desk. The chair is too short for her lanky frame, but they haven't been able to find another, bigger, one.

"The detectives all seem to date each other too," she says casually, turning her eyes back to her page.

And that is Gail is fishing. She has been wondering for the last week about Ola and her partner, Gail's other boss on this investigation. They seem incredibly close. It could just be because they have been working together a long time. Seven years, apparently. But it seems like more than that. They come to work together. They often leave work together. Gail can't help wondering if they actually _are_ together. And if they are, she wonders how they managed it long term, working and a relationship. Because that is something Gail has definitely not figured out.

"Not me." Ola says, clicking on her pen. "I'm married."

"Really? You don't wear a ring." Gail sits back in her chair, her eyebrows raised. "Is your husband a cop?"

"No," Ola shakes her head, pulling a necklace out of her shirt, a ring dangling from it. She glances over at Gail. "But my _wife_ has her own catering business."

"Oh," Gail frowns, blushing. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Ola looks over at her and smiles. "People will always assume the most likely scenario. That's what they do." She folds her arms over her chest. "Let me guess, you thought I was with Rick?"

"Maybe," Gail shrugs, smiling coyly.

"Well Rick also has a wife, and his wife and my wife like to get together every now and then and bitch about our jobs and how we're never home."

"Fun."

"Yeah, loads." She flicks to the next page of her notebook. "What about you? Found yourself another pin-up boy to replace that one?"

"Uh, no." Gail shakes her head, leaning back over her work.

And it's true.

She didn't lie.

But she knows it's a lie by omission. Why can't she just say it? Why is it still so hard to just say out loud that she is seeing someone? It's not like she's telling anything private about her relationships. She's merely stating a fact.

And Ola has even given her the perfect opening, her speech about people assuming the most likely scenario. Gail could have thrown that right back at her. But even for the sake of a win, Gail didn't take her up on it.

For some reason, whenever the moment arises, she freezes at the utterance, at the simple statement.

She's always been like this, though. It's not about Holly being a woman. Gail has never felt comfortable with people knowing her romantic business. She'd told Chris to keep it quiet when they'd got together, not wanting the other rookies to know, especially Dov. With Nick she'd barely allowed him to acknowledge _to her_ that they were together at first, let alone anyone else. With Nick it had been a little bit different, though. Part of keeping it quiet had been a little bit of shame, a fear of what people would think if they ever found out that he'd already left her once before, how even after that she was still willing to let him close. But for a long time it was also about keeping him at a distance, and about not letting their couple-dom become an acknowledged thing among their group, where people thought they had a right to talk about it. Of course they all figured it out after the kidnap.

But Gail isn't scared about Holly leaving her. Nor does she embarrass her. And she knows that pretty much everybody she cares about knows about Holly, even though she has really only had a conversation about it with Traci, and another half a conversation with Chris. But even with the freedom that _should_ come with this universal awareness, she finds it hard to talk about Holly, even in mention, as part of every day conversation.

She's even like this with Chris and Dov. And they are supposed to be her best friends. She comes and goes from the apartment, sometimes gone for nights at a time, like the last few nights with Holly being sick, barely talking about where she's been or why. And the boys, used to her need for privacy, have left her to it, with just a few cheeky asides to let her know that even though she is keeping quiet, that they are well and truly onto her. Chris occasionally sends her a message asking if she'll be back, probably so he can go nap in her bed, but that's about it.

Gail chews on the end of her pen, staring out the door of the office. Why is she so embarrassed by her own feelings? More so, why is she so embarrassed by being seen to have feelings? Feelings for someone?

Before she can take these thoughts anywhere beyond this immediate anxiety, Ola pushes back her chair and turns toward Gail.

"So, how are we coming along? Have we got a lease on the place yet?"

"Yep," Gail nods, glad to be pulled back from her little bout of torturous self-examination. "The landlord agreed to a month lease. Semi-furnished and amenities included. Will that be enough time?"

"It has to be. A place fancy enough for this guy to be convinced they can afford to keep a girl for six months?" Ola shakes her head. "Our budget won't stretch more than a month, tops. I don't think we'll need it all, anyway."

"Sure," Gail nods. Growing up with her parents, Gail probably knows more about the intricacies and limitations of policing budgets than anyone this early in their career has a right to know. But it has sure helped on this job. She has got her mother to thank for that at least.

She hasn't heard from her mother since lunch last week. It seems she might have got the message. Her Dad called though. Elaine has clearly filled him on about everything. She must have. He'd even asked about Holly, how she was, which Gail has answered quickly, embarrassed, before moving on. She loves her father for trying, though. She knows they will never really talk about it. But she also knows he will never, ever make an issue of it, either.

"Well let me know when it's signed off on, okay? And we'll brief Petrescu and Ellis on the place. Then we are just about ready to move on this."

Gail nods, bending over her work, determined to get it done as fast as possible.

"Peck, you've been great on this case, you know."

She looks up again, eyes wide. How many more surprises will she get this morning? Ola is smiling at her, twirling her pen between her fingers.

"You have. Doing all the grunt work. I remember being where you were at and all I wanted was to get in there, to be the one to make arrests, to lead the interrogations, to make the big things happen. It's hard to just sit at a desk and a sweat the small stuff."

"It's okay." Gail shakes her head. "I actually kind of like it."

"And you're good at it. Not to say you won't be good at the other stuff either, but as my Gran used to say, the devil's in the detail, and you really _see_ the detail. It's great."

"Thanks," Gail tells her, smiling bashfully.

That's one thing she truly likes about Ola. She's tough, and she has huge expectations for things to get done the right way and to get done fast, but she also listens and watches and isn't afraid to say when someone is doing something good. She is without ego in that way. Gail wants to be like that one day, if she ever ends up in charge of anyone, of course.

And she knows she is doing this job well. She's good at strategising, at planning, at thinking through the logistics of things like this operation. A couple of times already, she has picked up on small details, small oversights in planning that might have ruined this small but costly bust they are planning.

They don't have much time, either. Everyone is desperate to get it done before Christmas, so the accelerator has been stepped on firmly. It hadn't taken long to flip the couple who had been keeping Anca. Not with the kind of jail time they were looking at. And if the husband had his doubts about doing it, it didn't matter; the wife was ready to do anything to ferociously protect them.

It had only taken a few hours with Ola's incisive questioning and Rick's artful obfuscation to get them to name another 'customer', one who wouldn't be seen dragged into the police station by anybody and endanger the operation that they could use to contact the people who were trading in these girls.

Gail had been allowed to sit in on that one: the surprised businessman who used the same source to procure himself some free labour for his elderly parents. Now they are orchestrating how they will use him to trap the trader, getting him to pretend he knows some new 'clients', new to Toronto, looking for the same kind of help.

It had been hard to stand in the corner of the interview room, still and quiet, and watch this guy try and prevaricate, to soften what he had done with a sad sorry tale about his poor sick grandparents. Never mind the fact this bastard had unwittingly dragged them into his despicable acts, basically making slave owners of them while they drooled into their lunches in the bungalow behind his house.

But now they have him and they are going to use him.

As they slowly walked back to their office after the questioning, Gail still silenced by listening to this man's awful version of the world, Ola had slapped her on the arm.

"Don't worry Peck, he _will _get his, eventually," she'd told her.

Gail had turned and looked at her, nodding dumbly.

As they walked into the office, she muttered, "People are so … so …""

"I know." Ola had told her, throwing her notebook down on her desk. "But I work in child services and I don't want to say you get used to it, but," she pauses, thinking through her thought, "It all becomes less shocking, though." She shrugs. "Because it has to."

Gail is not sure she ever wants that to happen.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's note: This is a continuing sequel to It Has Been a ... Day**

**Thank you. Your reviews are appreciated.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	20. Chapter 20: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

"I'll take this one." Oliver says, placing a hand on Holly's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "I've got a good, good feeling about this one."

"I wouldn't get too excited." Holly tells him, taking the pool cue.

"You and me then, dear sister," Steve hands Gail one. "Try not to embarrass us."

Gail rolls her eyes and grabs the wooden stick in both hands. It's incredibly likely she will. Gail isn't great at pool. At best she's hit or miss. Mostly miss.

She's not even sure how they got roped into this game. Holly had called her after work asking if she wanted to have a quick drink to celebrate her newfound ability to leave the house for anything other than work, and to stay up past nine o'clock. So she'd picked Gail up after work and they'd come to The Penny, hoping for a quiet drink in the corner and a catch up. But instead they'd found Steve and Ollie, strangely lively for a weeknight and looking for a challenge on the pool table.

And now she doesn't have a choice. It's lucky Steve is good. Really good. He carries them both through the game, but it doesn't stop him from teasing her when she misses an incredibly easy shot.

"Looks like I got all the hand eye coordination in our family," Steve laughs, taking the cue from her. "Geez, Gail, how do they even let you have a gun?"

"Oh shut up," she throws him a look as she backs off from the table. "It's a payoff, anyway," she tells him, smiling, snide. "Because I got all the looks."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters. "Holly, you're up."

Holly is good, too, delivering balls to the pockets with ease and accuracy.

"Oh don't be such a cliché," Gail hisses at her as she passes her to take another shot. Holly smiles but ignores her, her comeback another ball sunken into the left corner pocket.

She spins, gives Gail a sly look and, before Gail can respond, turns back to Oliver, coolly handing him back the cue.

"See, I am never wrong about people." Oliver hoots, clapping her efforts.

Somehow, however, they manage to win, largely due to Steve's efforts and a little bit of luck. They are talking Ollie out of a wager on the next game when Traci arrives.

"Trace," Steve throws an arm around her waist, "Where have you been?"

"Uh, attending to Toronto's streets of crime while you people drink," she replies, putting her beer down on the ledge by the table.

"You want to play?" Oliver asks her.

"Here, play for me," Gail thrusts her pool cue at Traci. She is over it.

"No, no," Steve intercepts and grabs the cue. "I want to _play_ Traci, not play with her. I've heard she's got game."

Traci says nothing. She just raises one eyebrows and smiles.

"Oh, yes, I've heard about this, too." Oliver adds. "The legend of Traci. I think we should let this happen. Let them to duke it out man to man, shark to shark."

"Holly? Care to accompany me this time?" Steve turns to Gail. "Sorry sis, but I am forcing your retirement. You are no good to me."

"Not a problem." Gail shrugs, not even pretending to be offended. Why bother? She doesn't want to play anyway. There are many things she really, really hates to be bad at, but hitting balls with sticks is not one of them. She saunters off and parks herself in an empty booth next to the table with her beer, her legs stretched out along the wooden bench, watching the action.

Traci is good. Ridiculously good. Gail can tell just how good from the moment she cleanly breaks, spreading the balls across the table in an orderly frenzy, sinking two of them instantly.

Steve takes his turn and comes and sits down opposite Gail in the booth.

"I am so going to lose," he says idly.

"Good," Gail smiles.

He ignores her reply, watching Ollie deliberate over his next shot, before turning back to her.

"Saw Mom last night."

Gail raises an eyebrow. She's heard nothing from her mother asides from a couple of short text messages.

"And?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

He nods. "Not a word."

"Huh." Gail says, not quite sure what it means.

"Gail, I think you have finally rendered our mother speechless."

She giggles. "It won't last. You know that."

He smiles, taking a sip of his beer.

"Yep, I know that." He puts the beer down and gestures at Ollie who is still trying to decide what to do. "What is he doing? Oliver, it's not chess," he calls. "Take your shot!" And when Oliver finally does, Steve gives Gail's arm a quick squeeze and gets up to watch Traci taking hers.

Gail loves how Traci is so offhandedly, casually good that when she is not playing she does not even bother watching the action. Instead she chats to Holly by the wall, her back turned nonchalantly from the pool table.

Gail watches them talk. Traci is clearly telling some kind of story, her free hand gesticulating wildly as Holly listens, her eyes fixed on Traci, listening intently, nodding every now and then. The only time her attention strays is for one brief moment when Holly catches Gail's eye. Her eyes narrow slightly, signalling to Gail her awareness that she is being watched. Gail smiles to herself.

She can't help it. Maybe it's the fact that Holly has been sick, or that she hasn't seen her for a day or two, that she looks so good right now.

After a weekend of looking after her, Holly had sent her on her packing.

"Go," she'd said to Gail on Sunday. "You don't need to look after me any more. The antibiotics are working, I feel better, and I'm going back to work tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Gail had asked.

"Yes," Holly had laughed. "You've already wasted your whole weekend."

"It wasn't a waste." Gail had insisted.

"Well, whatever," Holly had replied, stroking her cheek. "No more hanging out with sick me locked in this apartment. It's the surest way to kill the magic."

"Pfft," Gail had said. But she did as she was told. "You're scared I won't be hot for you after spending too much time with this gross version you?"

"Pretty much."

"That won't happen," Gail told her, shaking her head.

"Well, let's not test it." Holly had told her.

And maybe Holly was right, partly, in making her leave. Because for a plit second now, looking at her from this distance, a few days later, watching her chat to Traci and joke with Ollie on the other side of the pool table, she can see Holly as if she were stranger to her. But now she sees her through this newfound lens of Gail's where it is possible to be attracted to a woman, to respond to the potential of chemistry existing between them, a call to heed the slight humming in the air when she looks at her.

And, of course, she does.

Seeing her anew is to want her all over again, Gail finds. And the attraction is consuming. From the privacy of distance, she can take in her casual beauty, the effortlessness of her dress—the disparate combination of the tomboy plaid shirt set against the teasing low to which it is unbuttoned. Her beautiful hair. The warm, intelligent, eloquence of her eyes. All of it. None of these things have ever been attractive to Gail before, and certainly not in one person. But they are now. _Right now_.

But what continues to surprise Gail most about her feelings for Holly is that it's not purely sexual. Nor is it simply comfort. But also a desire just to be near her, to be in the radius of her intelligence and her humour. Gail watches her laugh at whatever Traci is telling her, a look of wry amusement on her face, and wishes she had the courage to just march over there and kiss her.

The game is over quickly. Traci cleans up the table amid hoots from Ollie and Steve and then serenely sinks the black before laying her cue on the table and stalking away like it was nothing. She shakes Holly's hand, then Oliver's and turns back toward Steve, walking slowly toward him, eyebrows raised, hand out.

He just shrugs and grins, conceding to the loss. He ignores her outstretched hand and kisses her instead.

Gail smiles. At least Steve knows when to admit he's beat. Checking her watch, she slides herself out of the booth and goes straight over to where Holly and Oliver are standing.

"Another drink, Holly?" Ollie asks. She shakes her head.

"I'd better not, thanks," she tells him. "It's a school night and all."

He turns to Gail. She shakes her head. He departs for the bar.

Holly looks at Gail, smiling.

"Traci is amazing, isn't she?"

Gail ignores the question.

"We have to go."

"We do?" Holly tips her head slightly.

Gail knows she's trying to gauge if there's a problem.

"So can we?" she asks, impatient, grabbing at Holly's sleeve and dropping it.

"Uh, sure." Holly gives her a curious look, but doesn't ask the question

They say their quick goodbyes and head for the door, Gail leading the way.

On the way back past the bar Gail sees Ola and Rick at the bar. Gail gives them a small wave as she passes. Ola gives her a wink of acknowledgement. Then she sees Ola's eyes flick between her and Holly as they zip up their jackets at the door. And for a fleeting moment she wonders what her new boss's gaydar is like.

"Oh, wow," Holly gasps as they step outside and take in the arctic temperature outside.

"It's freezing!" Gail squeals, the bitter wind stinging her face.

They hurry to the car, hands in pockets, heads down.

"Are you good to drive?" Holly asks, pulling the keys out of her pocket.

"Uh, huh." Gail takes the keys and dashes around to the driver's side, unlocking the doors. They climb quickly inside and slam the doors, shutting out the alarming cold.

Holly turns to Gail, her brows furrowed

"Is everything okay?"

Gail nods. She turns to Holly and leans over, placing her hand under her chin, and kisses her.

"Oh, okay then," Holly whispers, smiling.

Before she can stop herself, or question the practicality of such a manoeuvre, Gail twists herself around and pulls herself over Holly as un-awkwardly as she can— no easy feat in this tiny little car.

"What are you … ?" Holly starts to ask.

Gail somehow manages to slide herself onto Holly's lap, her knees on either side of her, and stops her query with a kiss.

She pulls back and shrugs. "I just had to kiss you. A lot."

And before Holly can respond, she goes back in. Now she has got her, quite literally pinned, Gail takes her sweet time, as if she is indeed, as she imagined before, new to her, delivering a series of generous but chaste kisses as if they were their first. She savours feeling the feel of Holly's mouth again, enjoying the press of their lips.

It's funny, she thinks, sitting back and gently stroking the planes of Holly's face and neck with her fingertips, taking her in, how it can take touching someone else to pull you back into your body. Not only in a lustful or desirous way, but also just in the sheer physicality of connecting skin with someone who makes you feel something. It can remind you that you are more than a head, a consciousness- in Gail's case, she knows, a head so often full of doubts and questions- just floating through the world. Touching Holly makes her feel like a bodied being. It makes her want to physically inhabit herself, to be here with her fully. She smiles.

"What is up with you?" Holly asks gently.

"Nothing. Just looking," Gail says slowly, smiling, the way she'd say it to a sales assistant in a store to get her to leave her alone so she can keep doing what she is doing in peace. She runs her fingers idly along Holly's jaw line, and then across her lips, taking her time.

But Holly has no patience. She reaches up and pushes her hair back from her face with both hands.

"Come here," she whispers, pulling her down for another kiss. Gail does as she is told, slowly unzipping Holly's jacket, tucking her hands inside, sliding them around her waist, enjoying the warmth, even through her gloves.

Of course it doesn't take long until she wants more, until the feel of Holly's tongue at her lips makes her squeeze her legs tighter against her hips, to press her lips harder against her mouth. Flitting through her mind as she responds to Holly's deeper embrace is the hope that the quick-trigger nature of her lust for this woman never dies off. So this is exactly why Holly sent her away, so this could happen all over again, so they could find their way easily back to desire after their platonic little weekend of playing nurse and nursed.

And it's working.

And then she's pulling off her gloves, despite the cold and worrying at the opening of Holly's shirt, wondering, as she feels her impatience grow with the sensation of Holly's hands running down her back and over her ass, if unbuttoning it will take her places she is pretty sure the size of her compact car does not have space for. But she does it anyway, slowly unbuttoning the shirt, meanwhile tracing lines up the length of Holly's neck with her tongue, enjoying the sound of Holly's breath shallowing out under her ministrations, catching slightly as Gail runs her hands inside her open shirt.

But it doesn't take long to convince herself that this tiny space they inhabit is not going to accommodate all that Gail now wants to do. And especially not when it is freezing cold, enough to make mist of their breath— even inside the car. Not when she can already feel a bruise blooming on her knee where it is shoved again the parking brake. Not when she can hear the sound of laughter and footsteps close by, reminding her of exactly where they are, and the uncomfortable proximity of potential embarrassment. Gail does not fancy being caught in the parking lot of The Penny, with anyone, _ever_. The chances of those footsteps not belonging to someone she knows is basically slim to none.

"We need to go," she whispers in Holly's ear, running her hands up over her breasts and biting gently at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

"Uh huh." Holly breathes. "I mean, don't get me wrong, as much as I am enjoying this," she whispers, grinning, running her hands up and down the length of Gail's thighs. "I don't think we can do this here."

Gail sits back, kissing Holly decisively on the lips and shaking her head.

"No, because sex in cars is stupid." She shrugs, and then revises her statement. "Well, sex in cars this size is stupid."

Holly chuckles, saying. "Well if I'd known, I'd have bought something bigger."

Gail smiles, clumsily manoeuvring her legs again so she can get back to the drivers seat without hurting either of them and get them home quickly. Once she is there, she rubs her aching knee and takes the keys from the dash where she had tossed them.

Holly reaches over and squeezes her thigh, leaving her hand there to rest.

"I saw you staring at me in the bar. I wondered what you were thinking about."

"Well, now you know. What can I say," Gail shrugs, starting the engine and letting it warm up. "You're hot."

Holly squeezes her thigh again, but says nothing.

Gail turns to her. "Actually, I was imagining if you were a stranger, whether I would try and pick you up."

"And?"

Gail just gives her a look.

"You could have dragged me into the washroom," Holly grins.

Gail wrinkles her nose, pulling her seatbelt across her and securing it.

"Nah," she tells Holly, putting the car into reverse. "Sex in public toilets is like eating lots of bacon when you are hung over. It's great at the time, but if you think about it too much afterward, it totally grosses you out."

"What?" Holly leans against the headrest and laughs, shaking her head. "You are nuts." She squeezes her leg again. "Completely nuts. Now hurry up, let's go."

And Gail does as she is told.

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's note: This is a continuing sequel to It Has Been a ... Day**

**Thank you. Your reviews are appreciated.**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	21. Chapter 21: Gail and Holly

**Gail**

"What do you think?" Ola crosses her arms, sitting back against the desk. "Do you think you could handle it?"

"Yeah," Gail nods blindly, leaning back in her seat. "I think so."

It's more of a query than a statement by the end, though.

But Ola does not hear the question mark. Or she does not want to hear it. Because she just keeps on talking.

"It's short notice, I know, but Ellis is going to be out for weeks. It's this or find someone else and delay the whole thing."

"I know," Gail nods, folding her arms tightly across her chest, a myriad of feelings rushing through her at once, competing for the top rankings in her mind.

"I mean," Ola folds her arms, "In a way it's just as good. You probably know more about the case than she did, with all the work you've done."

Gail nods again, thinking of all the plans they have made, all the details she has laboured over these last weeks to make this happen, to catch these people. She couldn't refuse this, even if she wanted to.

"And you aren't supposed to have much to do with the deal, anyway. You're basically playing the part of the trophy wife."

"Great, I've always wanted to be one of those," Gail says, playing for sarcasm, buying herself a moment. But she doesn't really get one.

"So you'll do it?" Ola asks, leaning forward. "Anyone you need to run it by, first?"

Her mind jumps straight to Holly. But then she dismisses it immediately. She's fairly certain it is too soon for her to be able to ask Holly to be part of any of her life-decision making processes. Gail shakes her head.

"Okay," Ola slaps her hands on her thighs. "We'll talk to Frank, of course. I'm guessing we can't just take one of his officers out of action without his permission. And then if he's okay, we'll get Dan in so you two can talk."

"Okay," Gail nods, rattled by the speed at which things just happened.

Gail watches Ola walk out of the office. Knowing the pace her new boss moves, she's probably already off to find Frank and ask his permission to put her on this job. She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly through pursed lips, trying to relax and think clearly. She is somehow managing to feel proud and terrified at the same time, duelling for top spot. Proud because Ola put her on the job without thinking twice about it, like she already knows and expects Gail will be up to this task that is now, suddenly, being thrust upon her. Ola seems to harbour no doubts about her abilities, which is flattering to say the least.

Terrified because Ola could be wrong. And terrified because it is terrifying, when she thinks about it: about all the things that could go awry. All the things she is going to have to do that she has never done before. All the ways that she _cannot_ mess this up. All the ways in which there will be no back up, ready to come to their rescue at a moment's notice. All the ways she is going to have to let go of the safety cords of her life in order to complete this task.

All the ways she cannot back out now she has said yes.

Last time she did this she had jumped at the chance, wanting to prove her mettle, before really thinking through what it meant. This time, she has more of an idea— but still not enough to feel sure. She leans on the desk with her elbow, fiddling nervously with her earring. She cannot imagine what such a sustained pretending will be like. That one time, before the kidnap had just been a charade of only a few hours and Gail had been able to basically be herself, sans the cop part. This job will involve creating and maintaining a character and keeping her in place over weeks, possibly, depending on how long it takes her 'husband' to make a deal.

Gail bites down hard on her bottom lip. It will also mean not seeing anyone she knows until the job is done, successful or otherwise. It means the risk of being caught in the act of trying to trap this trafficker. It means being ultimately alone until it is done, with only a stranger as company. It means no Holly. She fleetingly wonders if this trepidation is what Andy and Nick felt like before they learned they would at least have each other on their UC job.

It is weird, but for the first time in the longest time, Gail actually wants to talk to her mother. Elaine was involved so many of these kinds of operations in her career. Here she could actually be helpful. Here she will be able to tell her something of what to expect. Gail knows her father won't want her to do it. He always turns instant, kneejerk fatherly around her. And ever since the kidnapping, he hasn't wanted her to stretch herself in any way. His aim will be to protect. Her mom won't be like that. She will be able to see beyond her maternal concerns to Gail's career. She will see this as an opportunity for Gail to show what she's made of as a cop. Finally this is something that this usually disheartening tendency of her mother's is good for, Gail thinks, picking up her phone and dialling Elaine's number. Besides, it's a good way to break the ice.

She picks up after two rings.

"_Hello_ sweetheart," her mother says, as if she hasn't skipped a beat, as if they never had that brutally honest meal together.

"Mom, are you free for lunch?"

**Holly**

Holly taps gently on the door of the apartment and then digs her hands into her pockets, wishing she'd remembered her gloves.

A moment later Chris opens the door.

"Hey Holly," he grins and pulls open the wire screen for her, stepping aside to let her pass.

"Hi," she says, stepping inside.

"Gail's in her room."

He shuts the door behind her and pads back into the living room in his socked feet without another word. She smiles. It looks like she has become part of the furniture, or at least the inevitable, around these parts.

"Thanks," she says to his back. She hangs her outdoor jacket on a hook by the door with the others, waves at Dov through the living room door, and goes in search of Gail.

Her bedroom door is wide open, soft lamplight spilling out into the hallway. Holly steps inside, leaning against the wall and taking in Gail. She is sitting cross-legged on her bed, sifting through a pile of papers, one of many stacks arranged across the surface of her bedcovers.

"You're even bringing work home now?" Holly says, raising her eyebrows. "Dedicated."

Gail looks up, gives her a small, barely-there smile, and continues what she is doing. "I have to," she says quietly. "I don't know when it will start and I need to make sure I know everything I can beforehand." She shakes her head. "We can't take anything with us."

"Oh, of course." Holly folds her arms across her chest, rubbing at a mark on the polished floorboards with the toe of her shoe.

"I can't say I was expecting you so soon," Gail tells her, looking down at her paper, biting her lip.

"No, I guess you probably weren't," Holly agrees, nodding. She only dropped Gail off here an hour ago. She takes a deep breath. "So, _that_ …" She stops, trying to form the words in her mind first.

"That what?" Gail leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, her hair falling gently forward.

"That, back at dinner," Holly gently jerks her head backwards, as if the dinner is just behind her. "That was me being completely and utterly selfish and thinking only of how I will be effected by you going undercover. It wasn't," she continues, looking down at her hands, "In case you didn't notice," she looks back up at Gail, "Me properly congratulating you on landing this job, or being happy for you."

"Oh, I noticed." Gail nods, giving her a small rueful smile.

"I am sorry about that," Holly shoves her hands in her back pockets. "I am happy for you. I am. I'll just miss you, that's all." She frowns. "And I'll worry about you. So it's kind of hard to be that pleased about it." She digs at the same spot on the floor some more with her toe and looks up at Gail. "And, I don't know, it just seems like such crappy timing. Everything just seemed to settle. We seem to have found our … " she shrugs, her eyes returning to the floor. " … our place or something."

She eventually looks back over at Gail. She is just staring at Holly, her chin in her hand, thoughtful. Eventually, she sighs, unfolds herself and climbs gingerly from her bed, being careful not to disturb any of the papers. She walks slowly over to Holly. Pulling up the sleeves of her over-sized jumper as she crosses the small room, she comes to a stop in front of her, placing her hands on Holly's shoulders.

"Don't be sorry," she says, shaking her head and leaning in, looking her straight in the eyes. "I'd feel the same way." She rolls her eyes and smiles. "In fact. I think we both know I probably would have reacted a lot worse. It's okay." She leans forward and kisses her, before resting her forehead again Holly's.

Holly smiles. It amazes her sometimes how much Gail has chilled in the time since they have met. She is no longer scared Gail is going to turn and run any time something goes wrong. In fact, there are times, like now, when Gail turns out to be calmer than Holly.

"I think if you were happy about it, I'd be worried." Gail leans back and smiles at her, her eyes shining. "And I am, of course, mildly flattered by the fact that you are not."

"Of course you are." Holly smiles, kissing her and running a hand through her silken hair. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I am happy for you, that you got this job. I should have said as much before."

"Thank you," Gail tells her.

"And now I should go, let you finish that," Holly tilts her head in the direction of the paper-covered bed.

Gail shakes her head. "No," she tells her. "Don't go."

"Don't you need to read all that … stuff?" Holly asks, pointing at the piles of papers.

"I've already read it. Some of it twice." Gail smiles bashfully and then shrugs. "I might be over-preparing a little. Please don't leave."

"You might be." Holly grins, grabbing her hands. "Okay, if you're sure you want me to stay, let's put a stop to that, then."

"I want you to stay." She frees her hands and reaches up and pulls off Holly's glasses. She carefully places them on her dresser. "Please stay."

Later, when they are lying in the dark, the papers relegated to a messy stack on Gail's dresser, Holly is ready to hear all about it again, to consider the first telling a disastrous dress rehearsal of sorts.

Earlier, over dinner, she'd pretended to listen, tried to ask all the right questions and even to muster a rather pathetic congratulations— one that not even the waiter would have seen through, despite his considerable lack of English. But all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears brought on by the new knowledge that Gail was about to put herself in danger again—more so than usual— and the fact that she would be doing it undercover. The whole not liking the sound of that fact one little bit had kind of made it hard to hear everything else Gail was saying as she broke the news over their shared plate of dumplings.

The first thing Holly felt was surprise, then fear, then the realisation of disenfranchisement that comes with being told this news. This is not a decision she gets to be part of making. She knows she's a concrete part of Gail's life— that she's now an ineffable presence. But she's also a new presence and she's earned no rights yet to call the larger shots. This is something she just has to watch happen.

And it hurts.

And part of her is frustrated too. But she knows in her rational mind it is still to early for her to make any demand, to assert her right to have any say, or impose herself on Gail's life decisions just because Holly would rather she didn't do this job. Instead she is just going to have to suck it up and wait it out. She knows it will probably always be like this when Gail does things like this. But maybe in the future she'll at least feel like she has a right to really say it. She sighs into the darkness. And she can't tell Gail any of this because; in some senses it's not her problem. It's Holly's.

"Okay, so you are going to have to tell me all this again," she says to Gail, kissing the top of her head. "At the restaurant all I could hear was that you are going away and I won't be able to see you. I might have missed some of the other, uh, finer details."

Gail fills her in slowly on what she knows about the job. What she'll be doing, who she'll be pretending to be, and what they will be trying to get done.

"How long will this be for?"

"Well this is the good part, because this client will be laying the groundwork for us, and we have supposedly moved from Montreal and no one is expected to know us, we don't have to establish ourselves. It should only take a couple of weeks, tops."

"Still, " Holly shrugs. "A couple of weeks is long enough."

"You know," Gail tells her, "When Nick left, he was gone for _six months_."

"Six months? Really?" Holly frowns, "And he didn't tell you he was going? He's lucky you only punched him. I'd have _killed_ him."

"I'll remember that next time I'm considering undercover work," Gail laughs.

"Do that," Holly tells her, stroking her hand up and down Gail's bare thigh, curled over her own legs. "So we can't have any contact?"

Gail shakes her head.

"And you can't talk to anyone at work either?"

She shakes her head again.

"So I will have absolutely no idea if you are okay?" Holly says, blinking into the dark. She already knows the answer.

"Holly, don't worry," Gail winds an arm up over her stomach, and rests her chin on her arm. "It's not that dangerous, as long as we are really careful. Please don't worry."

"Oh, I will," Holly tells her.

There is a long silence, filled with the tangle of things they both want to say but don't know how to sort into sense or even sentiment.

"I'm sorry," Gail finally says quietly into the room.

"It's okay," Holly says, not meaning it, but not wanting to make Gail feel worse either. She gears up for another question, turning her head toward Gail. "And you could leave for this job at any time?"

Gail nods, nuzzling into her arm before kissing it.

"Without notice?"

"Maybe. As soon as everything is finalised, we'll go. Everyone wants to get it done by Christmas."

Holly lets out a loud sigh, trying not to let this sudden, disarming news overwhelm her all over again.

"I know." Gail reaches for her hand and squeezes it. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Okay," Holly tells her, "but there are going to be some rules."

"Like what?"

"No putting yourself in danger."

"That's the plan."

"That means no getting caught."

"Okay."

"And no getting hurt."

"I'll do my best."

"Try harder."

Gail snickers. "Okay."

"And no not missing me."

"Impossible." Gail raises her head and kisses her softly on her neck.

They lie there together, curling their arms tighter around each other, an unspoken project that is trying not to leave a single centimetre space between them, as if their physical proximity now will somehow make up for the impending separation.

"So, you could even go tomorrow?" Holly asks.

"Maybe," Gail shrugs. "Or it could be in a week. Mostly likely sooner. I wish I could tell you, but I can't."

"That makes me want to spend every waking, non-working minute with you, just in case," Holly whispers.

"Well, let's do that," Gail tells her, climbing up over her. She dips her head and kisses her collarbone, then her chin, and then, finally, her lips. She strokes the hair from her face and smiles a smile that Holly can just make out in the darkness. "We can do that," Gail whispers again. "I promise I'll make sure you are sick of me before I leave." She buries her head in Holly's neck.

Holly wraps her arms around her back and holds her tight against her again, repeating Gail's utterance of earlier.

"Impossible."

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Thank you. Your reviews are appreciated.**

**Author's note: This is a continuing sequel to It Has Been a ... Day**

**BTW, I've a Tumblr now, and will post links there, and maybe some one-shots and some TV (and Rookie Blue) related pieces I am messing around with, so if you you like to play over there, check the link on my author's profile.**


	22. Chapter 22: Gail and Holly

**Holly**

The message comes just after midday.

_Do you have time for lunch?_

Holly replies immediately.

_For you, I do._

And the response comes just as quick.

_I'll be out front in ten._

She puts her phone down and hurries over to the bench to finish cleaning up. That way she can go to lunch and know she will be coming back to a clean slate for the afternoon's tasks. She sends the interns on a break, pulls on the jacket— the big winter jacket she's had to graduate to this week to handle the plummeting temperatures— and leaves the lab.

When she exits through the sliding doors into the arctic grey day she spots Gail's car straight away on the far side of the lot. Not sure if they are staying around here or going somewhere, she pauses to see what Gail will do, pulling the hood of the jacket over her head and thrusting her hands deep in the pockets.

But Gail doesn't seem to be getting out, so Holly crosses the car park, heads for the car, and climbs into the passenger's seat.

"Hi," she says, pulling back the hood of her jacket and rubbing the cold out of her cheeks. She leans in, pushes away a lock of blonde hair and kisses Gail's cheek.

"Hey." Gail says quietly, thrusting a paper bag at her. "I brought you a sandwich."

"Thank you." Holly smiles, taking the bag. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing."

"Well gee, thanks." Holly sasses, pulling the sandwich out and starting to unwrap the wrinkled paper.

"You know what I mean," Gail says dully, playing with her earring.

Holly frowns. Gail seems kind of tense. But she isn't too worried. Holly is getting used to the shifts and swings in Gail's quicksilver moods by now. It could pass in a moment. And if not, it's usually not too hard to jolly her out of it. It could be nothing more than Gail dreaming with her default frown setting face on.

"You chose a beautiful spot for a picnic," Holly jokes, looking out into the sea of cars, cement and grey sky.

"I don't have long," Gail shrugs.

"Well, at least it's warm," Holly says. She pulls back the bread and inspects the contents of her sandwich, then looks over at Gail. Her hands are empty. "Hey, where's your lunch?"

"Not hungry."

Holly pauses with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. Okay, then there must be something up.

"What?" she jokes, lowering the sandwich. "You, Gail, whatever your middle name is—you'll finally crack and tell me one day— Peck, are not hungry?" She shakes her head. "I don't believe it."

"I'm going this afternoon." Gail says, still staring out the window, the hand that was fiddling with the earring now laid lifelessly in her lap.

For a second Holly doesn't catch on. For a moment she thinks Gail just means she has to go back to work for the afternoon. Somehow, even though all she has been thinking about, all they have been talking about for the last forty-eight hours is the fact that any minute Gail will go undercover, it still takes her a moment to recall herself from the normalcy of this moment of having lunch together to realise exactly what she means. And then, with a sinking feeling, it comes to her. She swallows.

"Really?" she asks, turning the sandwich over in her hand. She carefully tucks it back in the bag and places it on the dashboard. She's not hungry either now.

"Really," Gail says. "As soon as I leave here."

"Oh," is all Holly can think to say as she negotiates all the feelings that come with this telling—none of them good.

Gail finally drags her gaze from the windscreen and around to her. There is a look in her eyes— a restless fretfulness that makes Holly realise that there is little room in this car for her own fragility right now.

But still, she buys herself a minute. She reaches over and takes Gail's limp hand, pulling it over onto her own lap. She skims her finger lightly back and forth across the pale skin of Gail's inner wrist, granting herself a drawn-out moment of silence, some time to pull away from her own feelings of fear and frustration and gather herself so she can focus on Gail. After all, Holly is going to be left behind, sure, but what Gail actually has to do is worth the air of apprehension that has marched in and occupied this car. And, therefore, more worthy of Holly's attention than her own feelings right now.

When she's ready she takes Gail's hand between both of her own.

"Are you nervous?" she asks.

Gail nods. "Yeah."

"Scared?"

The response takes a moment.

"Yeah." She eventually nods, looking over at Holly, her lips pressed together.

"Oh, babe," is all Holly can say, because she knows there is not much she can say to allay those feelings. Everything from here is beyond both of their control.

Gail squeezes her hand.

"I mean— I'm not just scared of getting hurt, or anything." She shrugs. "I'm more just scared of not knowing what to expect, or of messing up— screwing up this case for everyone."

"But you won't," Holly tells her.

Gail shakes her head, looking back out the window.

"You don't know that."

Holly sighs.

"No, I don't know that." She shrugs. "But I am pretty sure of it."

And she is. Gail is so invested in this case, knows so much about it. How could she screw up? In the last two days, Holly has made Gail tell her everything about what she would have to do, how she would do it. She is so prepared that she is no more likely to screw it up than anyone else, even if she wasn't the first choice for the job.

Holly sighs. The problem is, the more she tries to be reassuring, the more she thinks about all they have talked about, all the things that could go wrong, the more Holly starts to feel her own need to quell the dread rising in her again that something _could_ happen while Gail is undercover. If she's scared, Gail definitely gets to be scared.

But then just when Holly thinks she is going to have to succumb to this same apprehension, to lose the fight, to admit to Gail just how much she doesn't want this job to happen, Gail takes a deep breath, sets her shoulders and takes her hand back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It'll be fine," she says, nodding at the windscreen, her voice resolute. "Everything will be fine."

And there it is. The focus is back. Holly can see it in the set of Gail's jaw, in the steadfast, steely focus of her blue eyes on the windscreen. It seems Gail will not let herself wallow in these fears a minute longer. And it's Gail's fortitude that informs Holly's own, that tells her to brave up and not let on, to not give in to her fears.

"It _will_ be fine," Holly agrees, leaning back against the seat, looking out the window at the falling snow and at the vague outlines of people exiting and entering the lab through the sliding glass doors. Eventually she turns to Gail.

"But I'll miss you, babe," she tells her.

"Me too."

But it's an automatic— even dispassionate— response.

It seems that in this one minute, Gail—girl of extremes she is— has swung entirely the other way. With her hard-willed decision that everything will indeed by fine, Gail is already trying to make to make herself partway gone, to put herself mentally on this job. Holly tries not to take it personally. She knows this is emotional self-protection— that this newfound stoicism is a survival mechanism. And she knows it is unconscious.

Still, Gail's sudden remoteness hurts a little. And she can feel the tears in that small ache in her throat, closing in from somewhere in the not-too-distant future, threatening arrival if she doesn't quench these feelings.

Gail checks her watch. "I better go," she says.

"Okay," Holly says quietly, swallowing again. "Well, be careful— and be safe."

"They're the same thing, aren't they?"

"No," Holly shakes her head, putting a hand on her arm and holding it a little harder than she'd intended. "One is in your control. One isn't. Consider one an instruction and one a wish," she tells her.

"Okay," Gail turns and smiles briefly at her, before leaning forward to embrace her.

But as she's hugging her, Holly is once again confronted by Gail's palpable, forced detachedness from this moment. And although she knows Gail thinks she needs it, Holly has to put a stop to it. Gail is not allowed to leave yet, not even mentally. She has to bring her back because _she_ needs Gail to be present for this final minute— for her to fully acknowledge their parting. So, as soon as they separate, she takes Gail by the collar of her jacket and pulls her defiantly toward her again, so she has nowhere to look but at Holly. Then she takes her cheeks in her hands.

"Gail," she says, shaking her ever so slightly.

There is a hesitant moment before Gail finally looks up and meets her eyes.

"I'm going to miss you like hell," Holly tells her softly, rubbing her thumb across her cheek. "Please be careful, okay?"

Gail nods.

"And please do this job freaking quickly and come back as soon as possible," she adds.

And that's all it takes, it seems.

Holly sees it in the softening of her face, in the mellowing of her blue eyes: the shift from absence to presence, back from wherever she tried so fervently to conceal herself. It's all it takes for Gail to reach for her, wrapping her into a hard embrace, pressing her face into her neck.

"I will," she whispers.

Holly smiles. Now she can feel her again.

"That's better," Holly whispers into her ear, running her hand up through her hair.

Gail pulls back, her eyes narrowed, puzzled. Holly smiles. She didn't even know she what she had been doing, the distance she had been creating just a moment ago.

"What's better?"

Holly just greets her confusion with a smile. "Nothing. Now just tell me to shut up."

Gail giggles. "Shut up, Holly," she tells her, obedient. "Really." But she diffuses the snark with kiss, and then another and another.

"Even better," Holly smiles, running a hand through her hair. And then, as casually as she can, she tells her, "I'll see you in a couple of weeks, okay?"

Gail nods. "Okay. Bye," she whispers

Holly kisses her one more time, a light touch of her lips on Gail's before turning and climbing quickly out of the car, focused only on walking, and not on what is in front of her or what is behind her.


End file.
